Clary the Daughter of Poseidon
by fandomgirl231
Summary: Clary is actually the daughter of Poseidon and has joined camp half blood along with Percy. She has played a part in both wars and finally goes home to relax. But what if this is the summer when she meets Jace. What would happen if her brother ( Jonathon) was there. How would Clary react and what would happen upon Valentines return.
1. AN About Clary

Hi guys! This is my first fanfic so I apologise for any mistakes I make. To help you all understand the story better or rather Clary's character better I made this chapter. From the next chapter I will start the actual story.

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Clary is a sixteen year old girl who has bright red hair and sea green eyes. She is the daughter of Jocelyn Fray and Poseidon, although her mother doesn't know this. She is Percy's younger sister and has the same powers as Percy. Clary loves to draw and do anything related to art and is quite exceptional at it too. She has a special charm bracelet that turns into a Stygian iron sword. She also keeps a dagger similar to Annabeth's with her. Clary is around 5'4 feet tall. Clary is almost as good with her weapons as Annabeth and Percy but not quite as good. Her powers to control water do exceed Percy's though. She has participated in both wars and has gone home to relax with her mother, best friend and father figure.

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This is a small gist about Clary because she is different from the books. If you guys read the intro to this book you will know that I said Jonathon Christopher Morgenstern is a good guy. In this fanfic the nelphim find him in the runes of the Fairchild manor and save him. The silent brothers get him a temporary cure to subdue his demon side. He is living with the lightwoods along with Jace who still thinks he is a wayland.

Btw clary is one of the heroes of Olympus along with the 7 and a few others.

And that's the end of this. Pls r&r. I will try to update every week


	2. Pandemonium

Clary Fray is waiting along side her best friend Simon in front of the famous club Pandemonium. She could feel the music pumping inside and her body was swaying to the beat.

Simon let out an impatient huff and said " Why can't we go in yet? What's taking so long?" " well we can't go inside yet cause some idiot is holding the line" replied Clary. It was true, up in the front of the line a blue haired boy with a rubber stake was trying to get past security.

Clary took a closer look. She was upset to find that this was a monster hidden by the mist. _Great another monster to kill. I wonder if I'll ever get a break. Probably not._ Clary thought with a sigh.

As soon as the 2 best friends got in Clary quickly excused herself and chased after the monster. When she spotted the blue haired freak she walked over to him and lured him into a storage room.

"Well, well hot stuff looks like I finally got you alone" he purred. "Yeah i guess you did. But now that you got me what are you gone do?"she said while pressing herself against him. "What do you want me to do"" Just don't scream" Clary replied while pulling out her dagger from underneath her dress.

"Demigod!" he growled while pushing her away and turning into the monster he is. Clary readied her dagger and slashed at him. The monster tried to escape but was cornered instead.

"Wait, I have information." He hissed out in panic.

"Oh, and what might that be?" Clary asked

"Valentine. He's alive." The monster spluttered out.

"I who the Hades is that? Ugh, never mind. You're no use to me. Begone!" Clary bellowed while plunging the knife into the creature. He exploded into a shower of golden dust just as a she heard a voice behind her.

"wow, that wasn't half bad" came a voice from behind her. She whipped around only to find herself face to face with 3 handsome men and a gorgeous lady.

The boy who spoke had dirty blonde hair, golden eyes and an arrogant smirk. On his left a black haired boy with crystal blue eyes and a neutral expression. To the right a white haired boy with black piercing eyes and an analyzing face ( she should know since it was a very common look on Annabeth ). All well built and muscular with tattoos running along their body. The girl also had black hair and blue eyes and tattoos all over her body.

"So who or what are you 'cause you sure as hell ain't a shadowhunter." questioned the blonde. " Who and what i am is non of your business or concern. And as you crept up on me i believe i should be asking that. Also, what's a shadowhunter?" Clary replied.

"I suppose it's only fair that we introduce ourselves" said girl. "i'm Isabelle but people call me izzy. The arrogant blond is Jace, the white head is Jonathon or Jon and the last one is my brother Alec. Now who are you?""My name is Clarissa but i prefer Clary. As much as i would love to chat i have to go. Something tells me you guys aren't 100% mortal so till we meet again. But honestly i hope we don't.." " What do you mean by that strawberry shortcake? And BTW you aren't going anywhere cause we are taking you to Hodge." Jace said while blocking the exit. " Move blondie" "Make me strawberry." Clary punched his gut and kicked him out of the way. She quickly left to go get Simon and go home. Clary waved her hand at them as she left putting as much of the mist she could over them.

Soon they all woke up from their daze. Soon they all awoke with a small change in there memory. "That demon was way too easy to kill." Isabelle commented. "Yeah and can you believe all the crap he was mumbling about Valentine." Jon replied, saying the last word with venom. "Yeah, but that mundane saw us. We'd better go report this to Hodge." Alec said. "Oh, lighten up Alec. Come on, let's go have some fun. We can tell Hodge what happened after we get back." Jace said as he lead the way to the dance floor.

Little did any of the shadowhunters know about the truth and who truly killed the demon. But, as the others were having fun a certain white-haired boy was trying to figure out why our heroine looked so familiar and why the name of his long dead father would resurface now.

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 **That's the end of the second chapter guys. I hope you enjoyed it. Pls review and while i forgot to do this in the previous chapter remember that i do not own TMI or PJO. The belong to Cassandra Clare and Rick Riordan respectively.**

 **i will also most likely update only once a week. And if you have any ideas for the story pls feal free to mention it and i will try to include it.**


	3. Secrets and Lies

Clary POV

I am sitting around in my room drawing pictures of camp again. It's about 4 in the afternoon. My mind kept wandering to those strange people i meet yesterday. I knew it was fate 'cause when you're a demigod there ain't no such thing as a coincidence. But, I wonder why i met those people and just how much trouble i will face this time.

Suddenly my phone ( which Leo monster-proofed ) started ringing.

"Hey Simon." I answered as i picked up the phone." Where are you? Eric's?"

"Yeah. We just finished up practice." A cymbal clashed behind Simon. I winced. "Eric's doing a poetry reading over at Java Jones tonight," Simon went on, naming a coffee shop around the corner from my place that sometimes had live music at night. "The whole band's going to go to show their support. Want to come?"

"Yeah, all right." I paused, tugging on the phone cord anxiously. "It's not like I've got anything better to do."

"Great. I'll come pick you up and we can walk there together." Simon said

I hung up the phone and glanced around the living room. Evidence of her mother's artistic tendencies was everywhere, from the handmade velvet throw pillows piled on the dark red sofa to the walls hung with Jocelyn's paintings, carefully framed—landscapes, mostly: the winding streets of downtown Manhattan lit with golden light; scenes of Prospect Park in winter, the gray ponds edged with lace like films of white ice.

The sound of the key turning in the front door roused me out of my reverie.

The door opened with a thump. It was Luke, his arms full of what looked like big square pieces of pasteboard. When he set them down, I saw that they were cardboard boxes, folded flat. He straightened up and turned to her with a smile.

"Hey, Un—hey, Luke," I said. He'd asked me to stop calling him Uncle Luke about a year ago, claiming that it made him feel old, and anyway reminded him of Uncle Tom's Cabin. Besides, he'd reminded me gently, he wasn't really my uncle, just a close friend of my mother's who'd known her all her life. "Where's Mom?"

"Parking the truck," he said, straightening his lanky frame with a groan. He was dressed in his usual uniform: old jeans, a flannel shirt, and a bent pair of gold-rimmed spectacles that sat askew on the bridge of his nose. "Remind me again why this building has no service elevator?"

"Because it's old, and has character," I said immediately. Luke grinned. "What are the boxes for?" she asked.

His grin vanished. "Your mother wanted to pack up some things," he said, avoiding my gaze.

"What things?" I asked.

He gave an airy wave. "Extra stuff lying around the house. Getting in the way. You know she never throws anything out."

At that moment the door swung open and my mother stalked into the room, her boot heels clacking on the polished wooden floor. She handed Luke a set of jingling car keys and turned to look at me.

"Thanks for bringing the boxes up," my mother said to Luke, and smiled at him. He didn't return the smile. My stomach did an uneasy flip. Clearly there was something going on. "Sorry it took me so long to find a space. There must be a million people at the park today—"

"Mom?" I interrupted. "What are the boxes for?"

Jocelyn bit her lip. Luke flicked his eyes toward me, mutely urging Jocelyn forward. With a nervous twitch of her wrist, Jocelyn pushed a dangling lock of hair behind her ear and went to join her daughter on the couch.

Up close I could see how tired her mother looked. There were dark half-moons under her eyes, and her lids were pearly with sleeplessness.

"Mom, what's going on?" I questioned " Did i do something wrong?"

"No, no of course not." She replied breathlessly. " It's just - "

She glanced at Luke, who shook his head.

"Just tell her, Jocelyn," he said.

"Could you not talk about me like I'm not here?" I said angrily. "And what do you mean, tell me? Tell me what?"

Jocelyn expelled a sigh. "We're going on vacation."

Luke's expression went blank, like a canvas wiped clean of paint.

I shook my head. "That's what this is about? You're going on vacation?" I sank back against the cushions. "I don't get it. Why the big production?"

"I don't think you understand. I meant we're all going on vacation. The three of us—you, me, and Luke. We're going to the farmhouse."

"Oh." I glanced at Luke, but he had his arms crossed over his chest and was staring out the window, his jaw pulled tight. I wondered what was upsetting him. He loved the old farmhouse in upstate New York—he'd bought and restored it himself ten years before, and he went there whenever he could. "For how long?"

"For the rest of the summer," said Jocelyn. "I brought the boxes in case you want to pack up any books, painting supplies—"

"For the rest of the summer?" I sat upright with indignation. "I can't do that, Mom. I have plans—Simon and I were going to have a back-to-school party, and I've got a bunch of meetings with my art group, and ten more classes at Tisch—"

"I'm sorry about Tisch. But the other things can be canceled. Simon will understand, and so will your art group."

I heard the implacability in her mother's tone and realized she was serious. "But I paid for those art classes! I saved up all year! You promised." I whirled, turning to Luke. "Tell her! Tell her it isn't fair!"

Luke didn't look away from the window, though a muscle jumped in his cheek. "She's your mother. It's her decision to make."

"I don't get it." I turned back to my mother. "Why?"

"I have to get away, Clary," Jocelyn said, the corners of her mouth trembling. "I need the peace, the quiet, to paint. And money is tight right now—"

"So sell some more of Dad's stocks," I said angrily. "That's what you usually do, isn't it?"

Jocelyn recoiled. "That's hardly fair."

"Look, go if you want to go. I don't care. I'll stay here without you. I can work; I can get a job at Starbucks or something. Simon said they're always hiring. I'm old enough to take care of myself—"

"No!" The sharpness in Jocelyn's voice made me jump. "I'll pay you back for the art classes, Clary. But you are coming with us. It isn't optional. You're too young to stay here on your own. Something could happen."

"Like what? What could happen?" I demanded.

There was a crash. She turned in surprise to find that Luke had knocked over one of the framed pictures leaning against the wall. Looking distinctly upset, he set it back. When he straightened, his mouth was set in a grim line. "I'm leaving."

Jocelyn bit her lip. "Wait." She hurried after him into the entryway, catching up just as he seized the doorknob. Twisting around on the sofa, I could just overhear her mother's urgent whisper."... Bane," Jocelyn was saying. "I've been calling him and calling him for the past three weeks. His voice mail says he's in Tanzania. What am I supposed to do?"

"Jocelyn." Luke shook his head. "You can't keep going to him forever."

"But Clary—"

"Isn't Jonathan," Luke hissed. "You've never been the same since it happened, but Clary isn't Jonathan."

What does my mother's husband have to do with this? I thought, bewildered.

"I can't just keep her at home, not let her go out. She won't put up with it."

"Of course she won't!" Luke sounded really angry. "She's not a pet, she's a teenager. Almost an adult."

"If we were out of the city..."

"Talk to her, Jocelyn." Luke's voice was firm. "I mean it." He reached for the doorknob.

The door flew open. Jocelyn gave a little scream.

"Jesus!" Luke exclaimed.

"Actually, it's just me," said Simon. "Although I've been told the resemblance is startling." He waved at Clary from the doorway. "You ready?"

Jocelyn took her hand away from her mouth. "Simon, were you eavesdropping?"

Simon blinked. "No, I just got here." He looked from Jocelyn's pale face to Luke's grim one. "Is something wrong? Should I go?"

"Don't bother," Luke said. "I think we're done here." He pushed past Simon, thudding down the stairs at a rapid pace. Downstairs, the front door slammed shut.

Simon hovered in the doorway, looking uncertain. "I can come back later," he said. "Really. It wouldn't be a problem."

"That might—," Jocelyn began, but I was already on my feet.

"Forget it, Simon. We're leaving," I said, grabbing my messenger bag from a hook near the door. I slung it over her shoulder, glaring at my mother. "See you later, Mom."

Jocelyn bit her lip. "Clary, don't you think we should talk about this?"

"We'll have plenty of time to talk while we're on 'vacation,'" I said venomously, and had the satisfaction of seeing my mother flinch. "Don't wait up," I added, and, grabbing Simon's arm, she half-dragged him out the front door.

He dug his heels in, looking apologetically over his shoulder at my mother, who stood small and forlorn in the entryway, her hands knitted tightly together. "Bye, Mrs. Fray!" he called. "Have a nice evening!"

"Oh, shut up, Simon," I snapped, and slammed the door behind them, cutting off my mother's reply.

"Jesus, woman, don't rip my arm off," Simon protested as I hauled him downstairs after me, my green Skechers slapping against the wooden stairs with every angry step. I glanced up, half-expecting to see my mother glaring down from the landing, but the apartment door stayed shut.

"Sorry," I muttered, letting go of his wrist. I paused at the foot of the stairs, my messenger bag banging against my hip. " Come on let's just go to the poetry reading"

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 **Hey guys. This is chapter 2 i hope u like it.**

 **If any of you were wondering why Clary calls her fake father dad, then remember that Jocelyn doesn't know that Poseidon is Clary's father. This means that Clary has too act like her fake father is her real father, which means calling him dad.**

 **I have taken some or rather most of this chapter straight from the books so i would like to remind you all that i don't own anything. all rights go to Cassandra Clare and Rick Riordan.**


	4. Red Haired Mystery

Jace POV

I just couldn't get her out of my head. I mean not only was she not affected by my charms but she also kicked my ass. And it actually hurt! Man, for a little girl she sure can kick. This Clary girl intrigued me like no one has before.

But I'm not the only one. Jon's been off ever since we met her. He says that she reminds him of his mother, Jocelyn Fairchild.

I got outta bed and went down to the training room.I let my thoughts flow and started waking the training dummy.

A little while into my work-out Jon walked into the room deep in thought.

" Hey Jon" I call out "What ya thinking 'bout?"

He jumped a bit and looked up startled. _Wow he must have been in pretty deep thoughts._

"Oh, hey Jace, did you say something?"

"Ya, what's up man. You've seemed out of it ever since we met that Clary girl"

Jon sighed, "Yeah bro. She just looks so much like my mom! So, i did a bit of digging and found out that her full name is Clarissa Adele Fray. Her mother is Jocelyn Fray and her father is dead."

"Dude, what are you saying?" I asked

" I think that this Clary girl might actually be a shadow hunter. And on top of that she might be my sister." He answered

 _That actual might be a pos_ s _ibility. It would explain how she saw and took down that demon at Pandemonium and why she looks so much like Jocelyn. But, what now. We can't just go drop the bomb on her. And it might not even be true._

" So what do you think Jace?" Jon said, awaking me from my thoughts.

"Well, it might be a possibility but we need to make sure before we tell anyone else. I think it would be best to watch her for a while before we do anything."

" So, we spy on her? "Jon asked

"Yup and we start right now. Come on, let's go find her and start spy" i replied, while flashing my signature grin.

" Fine, let's go." sighed Jon.

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 **And with that we conclude chapter 3.**

 **i'm sorry if the chapters are a bit short. i hope you like the chapters so for.**

 **. /olympians/images/a/a5/Stygian_iron_ /revision/latest?cb=20091129160912**

 **The above link is a picture of what Clary's sword looks like. It's name is deathraze which is what we are gong to think the incription means cause i have no idea what so ever of what it means.**


	5. A Proper Meeting, Not

Clary POV

By the time we reached Java Jones, Eric was already on stage, swaying back and forth in front of the microphone with his eyes pinched shut. _He looks ridiculous,_ I thought while silently laughing. He had dyed his hair pink for the occasion. Behind him, Matt, looking completely drunk for some reason, was playing an irregular beat on the djembe.

"Oh, this is going to suck so bad," i whined in worry. I tug on Simon's sleeve and try to pull him out the door, "Come on, if we leave now maybe Eric won't notice us and we might be able to save our ears!"

He shakes his head and and states, " I am nothing if not a man of my word." He squares his shoulders, "I'll get us drinks if you get us seats,"

I groan and ask Simon for black coffee _like my soul._

Simon goes off to get us drinks as I try to find us a place that will cause use the least ear damage.

It was pretty busy, for a Monday evening. Most of the seats were taken up by teenagers that were here just to enjoy life. It was a pleasure i dreamed of having after all, being a demigod is basically a sign for bad luck to come your way. Finally, after looking around a bit I found a love seat near the back. The only other person there was a girl in an orange tank top who was absorbed into her iPod

 _Good, our ears will still be intact from this distant. Plus, Eric won't be able to find us to ask us about his stupid poetry once he is done._

I start fiddling with my bracelet and do a quick scan for , i don't see any monsters today.

A sudden tap on my shoulder brought me back to my girl in the tank top from before was right next to me. " Um, excuse me but is that your boyfriend?" she asked, pointing to Simon. He was heading this way with our drinks in hand. "No." i quickly replied. "He is my best friend"

She beamed at me" You're so lucky!" she exclaimed. "He's so cute. Does he have a girlfriend?"

 _Well, she seems genuine and she is definitely not a monster. It would be good if Simon got himself a girlfriend. Then maybe he wouldn't always be around me and he would be a little bit safer from all the monsters I attract._ "No, he's single" I reply. "Is he gay" she asks suspiciously. I smile, shake my head and wink at her before heading towards Simon.

"Ugh, I hate it when they run out of mugs. I think I burnt my fingers" he said , blowing on his fingers.

I smile " Don't look now but that girl over their thinks you're cute, " pointing at the girl who went back to her iPod. He glanced over at her. "The girl in the orange tank top?" he questioned. "Yeah" Simon looked doubtful "What makes you think that?"

Just then Eric started his poetry. We both groaned and slid down into our seats. I swear my ears were bleeding.

"Please, don't tell anyone i know him" Simon begged me. "Ditto, now about this girl who thinks you're cute." I was determined to set them up.

""Could we please forget about that for a second, I have something I need to talk to you about."

"Really, what is it? You know you can talk to me about anything. Oh, but if its about the band, no, Furious Moles is not a good name."

"Actually," Simon hesitated , " Its about me not having a girlfriend"

"Well if that's the case, then there is a obvious candidate right there." I said, while pointing toward the girl who by now was definitely eaves-dropping on the conversation.

"Yeah. but that wouldn't be fair to her, as I like someone else." He said, slightly turning green.

"OMG, no way! Who is it, do I now them. Wait are you gay. Cause if that's the case you should know that i am totally cool having a gay best friend." I rambled in excitement

"No! I am not gay! If i was i'd dress better." He mumbled. "The person i like is - "

At that moment something caught my eye. Near the back corner of the cafe I saw the blond and white haired boy from that night at Pandemonium. Jon and Jace, I think their names were.

"Hold on Simon." I cut him off. "I'll be right back" I briskly walked out of Java Jones, while motioning for the boys to follow. I lead the to an ally and turn around to face them.

"Ya know boys, just because the fates crossed our paths doesn't mean you should stalk , what in Zeus's name are you doing here?"

Jon's POV ( come on i had to do it sooner or later )

Jace and I were quickly able to spot Clary's red hair and follow her to Java Jones. She doesn't seem too suspicious or different from a regular mortal. But, she did seem to go on alert mode for sometime. Jace and I watched in amusement as Clary trued to pair up her mundane friend and as he tried to confess his feelings to her. It was very obvious to anyone who looked at them too. But our luck ran out. Just as that Simon boy was about to confess, Clary spotted us. She motioned for us to follow and we did till we got to an ally. Then, she whipped around and said "Ya know boys, just because the fates crossed our paths doesn't mean you should stalk , what in Zeus's name are you doing here?"

I pulled out my sensor and made sure that the area was monster proof. "Your friend's poetry is terrible." Jace stated _And i have to agree with him there._

"What?" she asked in surprise

"I said, your friend's poetry is terrible. It's like he swallowed a dictionary and is just sprouting out random word." Jace chuckled.

"Never mind Eric's poetry, I want to know why the Hades you strangers are following me."

"What makes you think we are following you?" I stated.

"Oh, please! Not only were you following me but you were eaves-dropping, too! You'd better tell me what you want before I kick both your sorry asses right now." she threatened

 _Now, this is amusing. I mean the thought of such a small, fragile looking girl thinks she can take on two of the best fighters out of all the nelphilim. Talk about a joke._

"We'd like to see you try Clarissa." Jace cockily said.

"That's not my name" she clenched her fists. "It's Clary."

"I know," he said. "Pretty name. Like the herb, clary sage."

"Anyway, our trainer Hodge would like to meet you." thought up before Jace could make another move on my maybe sister.

"And if I say no?"

"Then we'll simply have to use force." Jace replied

"Yeah, still no. I wouldn't come even if you guys had an army to support you" She said

 _Now this is interesting. She doesn't seem threatened by use, even though there are 2 of use and one of her. Plus, we're a lot bigger than she is. No way is she a mundane. She must be my sister._

Suddenly Clary's phone rang. "Feel free to answer that" I said

"Mom?...Mom, are you alright?...Mom, what are you taking about?...I'm coming home...MOM!" she shrieked.

"Clary what's the matter. We can help." I stated urgently

Suddenly she took of running down the street. Probably, towards her home. Jace and i exchanged glances and bolted after her, hoping she was alright.

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 **I have to say this writing stuff is a lot harder than i thought. Shout out to all you authors out there for trying to make an effort. That brings us to the end of chapter 4.**

 **And remember i own nothing. pls r &r**

 **good day to you all.**


	6. Ravener

Clary POV

My phone suddenly rang."Feel free to answer that" the white haired boy said. I think his name was Jonathon or Jon.

"Clary, where are you?"

"Mom?"

"Clary don't come home! Go straight to Luke's house - _CRASH_ " A loud band erupted from the other end.

"Mom, are you alright?" I panicked

"Tell Luke _he's_ got me. Luke will know what I mean" she said urrgently

"Mom, what are you taking about?"

"I'm sorry sweetie but I don't have any time to explain. Remember I love you Clary."

"Mom, I'm coming home."

"NO! Don't you dare - AAH!"

"MOM" I shouted into the phone. The line cut.

I stare at the phone as I vaguely register Jon saying something to me. An over coming sensation came over me. I was angry, no furious. you want to hurt a demigod, fine. That's what our life is about, but go anywhere near my mortal family and I will personally send you straight to tartarus.

I bolt down the road and race home as fast as my legs can carry. I ran up the street to house. I head up the stairs to the second floor, where my house is, when a voice abruptly calls out " "And just where do you think you're going ?"

I twirl around. My eyes adjust to the darkness and zoom in on Madame Dorothea. The old woman was sitting on a worn out wooden chair.

Your mother," Dorothea said, "has been making a godawful racket up there. What's she doing? Moving furniture?"

"Sorry, I'll tell her to stop" I reply urgently. I didn't have time to waste on an old lady.

"You'd better she says" With that I dash up to the second floor and barge inside. "Mother!" I shout. No reply.

I took in my surroundings and my uneasiness grew. The only thing that seemed to be out on place was the doorknob. It was broken and dangling from its hinges.

Even with, the house in a seemingly perfect condition,, i could tell something wasn't right. I slowly and quietly crept through the house.

I entered the living room and gasped in horror. I saw the cushions had been ripped from the sofa and scattered around the room. Some were torn lengthwise, cotton innards spilling onto the floor. The bookshelves had been tipped over, their contents scattered. The piano bench lay on its side, gaping open like a wound, Jocelyn's beloved music books spewing out.

Most terrifying were the paintings. Every single one had been cut from its frame and ripped into strips, which were scattered across the floor. It must have been done with a knife—canvas was almost impossible to tear with your bare hands. The empty frames looked like bones picked clean. I feel a scream rising up in my chest: "Mom!" I shriek. "Where are you? Mommy!"

I hadn't called Jocelyn "Mommy" since I was eight.

I moved from room to room in desperation. Searching for any sign of a life form still here.

 _It can't have been robbers, the TV and money is still here. It might have been kidnappers, but why would they kidnap her. I just hope it isn't some old monster out for revenge on me. Otherwise, this would be all my fault. I don't care who did this, but they will pay. I swear on the river styx._

I reach the door to my mother's bedroom now. For a moment it looked as if this room, at least, had been left untouched. Jocelyn's handmade flowered quilt was folded carefully on the duvet. My own face smiled back at me from the top of the bedside table, five years old, gap-toothed smile framed by strawberry hair. _Mom, where are you?_

Silence answered her. No, not silence—a noise sounded through the apartment, raising the short hairs along the nape of her neck. Like something being knocked over—a heavy object striking the floor with a dull thud. The thud was followed by a dragging, slithering noise—and it was coming toward the bedroom.

I slowly turn around and pull out my sword. I look around and find nothing. I sigh and look down, then jump back in surprise.

It was crouched against the floor, a long, scaled creature with a cluster of flat black eyes set dead center in the front of its domed skull. Something like a cross between an alligator and a centipede, it had a thick, flat snout and a barbed tail that whipped menacingly from side to side. Multiple legs bunched underneath it as it readied itself to spring.

My eyes narrowed as I stare at the monster. Never had I seen or heard of such a beast. As I ready my self, the monster jumps at me. I clutch _deathraze_ ( A/N: the name of Clary's sword ) tightly and rolled to the side. I backed away into the living room, for some more fighting space. The monster sprung again, landing just above the door. It stared down at me like a huge, hideous spider.

 _"Girl,"_ it hissed _"Flesh. Blood. To eat, oh to eat."_

I was shocked to hear it speak. It's not the first time I heard a monster speak, but I didn't think this one could. I glared at it. The creature was on its feet now. I lunge at it, swiping my blade in a deadly arc and flip over it. It hissed in pain and spun around, knocking deathraze to the ground.

I stepped back a bit. I scan the room and monster for any sort of weakness or opportunity I can use. I slowly slid my hand and grip my dagger

 _Bones, to crunch. To suck out the marrow. To drink the veins._

 _Gross._ A plan comes to mind as the creature gets ready to spring again. The monster jumped on top of me, pinning my hands and shoulders. I try to break free but it's too heavy.

 _To eat, To eat_ it moaned. _But, it is not allowed. To swallow to savoir._

The hot breath stank of blood. I couldn't breathe. My arms are pinned down between me and the monster, the dagger still in hand. I twist in an attempt to break my hand free.

 _Valentine will never know. He said nothing about a girl. He will not be angry._ It opened its mouth and a wave of stinky breath hit me just as my arm breaks free. Deathraze shined on my arm as it returned to me in bracelet form. I shove the dagger through its mouth and into its body.

I twist away as a black ooze starts to drip from its mouth. _Well, there goes a perfectly good dagger._ I turn around to leave when i heard a something move. My eyes widen in shock as a sharp pang goes through my body starting from the back of my neck. I black out with only one thought in my mind ... _crap ._

 _****TIME SKIP TO WHEN CLARY WAKES UP****_

Jace POV

I lay Clary down onto the grass lawn around her house. Jon comes back from scouting the area for more demons.

"No more demons in the area but, more will probably come to clean up this mess. How's she holding up" he nods at Clary

"She isn't too scratched up. The ravener got her in the back of her neck. She'll need some medication. Well at least now we know she isn't mundane." I respond

"Yeah, I guess but that doesn't mean - "

"ugh, um " Clary muttered. Her sea-green eyes fluttered open to meet my golden ones.

Clary POV

I groan and open my eyes to see a golden pair of eyes staring back. The other boy standing right next to him."Hold still" the Jace guy commanded. Paying no heed to him I turn my head and immediately regret in. Pain flares through my neck.

I notice that i'm laying down near my mother's well trimmed rose bushes. My eyes close in on a few men police cars and two police men emerge from the cars.

I try to sit up and nearly gag. "I told you not to move." Goldilocks hissed. "The ravener got you in the back of your neck. We'll need to take you to the institute to heal up. You need to keep still" Jon said kneeling down next to me.

"No - i need to go after my mom." i panic at the thought of my mother.

"WE can look for your mom later but if we don;t get you to the institute now, you will die." It wasn't a probability, but a fact.

"Fine" i sigh "But, you'd better hurry. The police are here and I have a sneaking suspicion they aren't human."

The boys glance toward the police and curse "shit"

Jace grabbed my hand, pulling out something sharp and silver and drew something on my arm. I try to get up and on my feet but just as i'm on my feet, my legs give way and i faint.

Jon POV

I stood in shock as Jace drew a rune on Clary. She tried to stand but her legs gave way and she fainted.

I snap out of it and catch her. Then, spun around to face Jace. "ARE YOU CRAZY! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING PUTTING A RUNE ON HER." i bellow

"It was the best option now come on we need to get to the institute. " he says as he starts to the institute.

I glare at him for putting the girl in danger and follow him.

* * *

 **Jace: That's it?**

 **Me: yup ( pop the p )**

 **Clary: Did I have to pass out. It made me look soooo weak**

 **Jace: Don't worry Clary. You won't need to be strong 'cause i'm always going to be there to protect you . ( flashes a bright smile )**

 **Clary: That is the cheesiest thing i have ever heard**

 **Jon: stop flirting with my sis you golden haired playboy**

 **Me: all of you shut up! clary yes i did have to make you faint . jon get use to the flirting this is going to be a clace story and jace no more cheesy lines unless you want to me to turn you into an ugly beast in this story**

 **Jace: GASP you wouldn't!**

 **Me: Try me ( evil glare )**

 **( Jace's eyes go wide in horror )**

 **Clary: any way, fandongirl231 doesn't own anything**

 **Jon: pleases read & review and**

 **(Jace runs away from me screaming in terror as I follow)**


	7. The Institute

Clary POV

"Do you think she'll ever wake up? It's been three days already." a distant voice questioned

"You have to give her time. Demon poison is strong stuff, and she's a mundane. She hasn't got runes to keep her strong like we do." another voice answered. This one was more masculine.

"Mundies die awfully easily, don't they?" The previous girl wondered out loud

"Isabelle, you know it's bad luck to talk about death in a sickroom."

 _Three days,_ I thought slowly. All my thoughts ran as thickly and slowly as blood or honey. _I have to wake up._

But I couldn't.

The dreams held me, one after the other, a river of images that bore her along like a leaf tossed in a current. She saw her mother lying in a hospital bed, eyes like bruises in her white face. She saw Luke, standing atop a pile of bones. Jace with white feathered wings sprouting out of his back, Isabelle sitting naked with her whip curled around her like a net of gold rings, Simon with crosses burned into the palms of his hands. Angels, falling and burning. Falling out of the sky.

"I told you it was the same girl."

"I know. Little thing, isn't she? Jace said she killed a Ravener."

"Yeah. I thought she was a pixie the first time we saw her. She's not pretty enough to be a pixie, though."

"Well, nobody looks their best with demon poison in their veins. Is Hodge going to call on the Brothers?"

"I hope not. They give me the creeps. Anyone who mutilates themselves like that—"

"We mutilate ourselves."

"I know, Alec, but when we do it, it isn't permanent. And it doesn't always hurt..."

"If you're old enough. Speaking of which, where is Jace? He saved her, didn't he? I would have thought he'd take some interest in her recovery."

"Hodge said he hasn't been to see her since he brought her here. I guess he doesn't care."

"Sometimes I wonder if he—Look! She moved!"

"I guess she's alive after all." A sigh. "I'll tell Hodge."

My eyelids felt as if they had been sewed shut. I imagine I could feel tearing skin as she peeled them slowly open and blinked for the first time in three days.

I saw clear blue sky above me, white puffy clouds and chubby angels with gilded ribbons trailing from their wrists. _At least, i'm not dead. This definitely isn't the underworld._ I blink again. This time I realized that what I was staring at was an arched wooden ceiling, painted with a rococo motif of clouds and cherubs.

Painfully I haul myself into a sitting position. Every part of me ached, especially the back of my neck. I glance around. I was tucked into a linen-sheeted bed, one of a long row of similar beds with metal headboards. My bed had a small nightstand beside it with a white pitcher and cup on it. Lace curtains were pulled across the windows, blocking the light, although I could hear the faint, ever-present New York sounds of traffic coming from outside.

"So, you're finally awake," said a dry voice. "Hodge will be pleased. We all thought you'd probably die in your sleep."

I turn. Isabelle was perched on the next bed, her long jet-black hair wound into two thick braids that fell past her waist. Her white dress had been replaced by jeans and a tight blue tank top, though the red pendant still winked at her throat. Her dark spiraling tattoos were gone; her skin was as unblemished as the surface of a bowl of cream.

Sorry to disappoint you." my voice rasped like sandpaper. "Is this the Institute?"

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Is there anything Jace and Jon didn't tell you?"

I coughed. "This is the Institute, right?"

"Yes. You're in the infirmary, not that you haven't figured that out already."

A sudden, stabbing pain made me clutch at my stomach. I gasped and squeezed my eyes shut.

Isabelle looked at me in alarm. "Are you okay?"

The pain was fading, but I was aware of an acid feeling in the back of my throat and a strange light-headedness. "My stomach."

"Oh, right. I almost forgot. Hodge said to give you this when you woke up." Isabelle grabbed for the ceramic pitcher and poured some of the contents into the matching cup, which she handed to me. It was full of a cloudy liquid that steamed slightly. It smelled like herbs and something else, something rich and dark. "You haven't eaten anything in three days," Isabelle pointed out. "That's probably why you feel sick."

I gingerly took a sip. It was delicious, rich and satisfying with a buttery aftertaste. "What is this?"

Isabelle shrugged. "One of Hodge's tisanes. They always work." She slid off the bed, landing on the floor with a catlike arch of her back. "I'm Isabelle Lightwood, we met at Pandemonium . I don't think you remember me though. I live here, by the way."

""I remember. That encounter is something I most likely will not forget. I'm Clary. Clary Fray." I reply. "Where's my necklace?" with slight panic when i notice that its weight is gone from my neck.

"Relax it's right next to you." she said nodding to the side table next to me.

I glanced over and was relieved to see my camp necklace safe and sound. My phone wasn't there. I recollect throwing it away when i ran home and make a mental note to ask Leo for a new one. (A/N: In this fanfic the events of trials of apollo don't happen. Leo returns with Calypso and things go back to normal.) I sigh in relief that my necklace were there.

"I'm guessing Jace or Jonathon brought me here?" I said, turning back to look at her.

Isabelle nodded. "Hodge was furious. You got ichor and blood all over the carpet in the entryway. If they'd done it while my parents were here, they'd have gotten grounded for sure." She looked at me more narrowly. _She kinda reminds me of Annabeth with that face_ "Jace said you killed that Ravener demon all by yourself." I start to fiddle with my bracelet, glad that it was still on.

A quick image of the scorpion thing with its crabbed, evil face flashed through me mind. "So what if i did?"

"You can't possibly have killed a ravener. I mean the demon at pandemonium was probably just luck, right? You're a mundie, for angel's sake!"

"I took a little bit of defense classes, when i was little. I saw a strange guy and led him away to talk. He attacked me, i pushed up to the wall and fought back. It suddenly exploded into black goo. The same with that ravener thing you mentioned, well it went a little differently." I say covering it up.

"Alright.I should go tell everyone you're up. Hodge'll want to talk to you."

"Hodge is Jace's tutor, right?"

"Hodge tutors us all." She pointed. "The bathroom's through there, and I hung some of my old clothes on the towel rack in case you want to change."

I went to take another sip from the cup and found that it was empty. I no longer felt hungry or light-headed either, which was a relief. I set the cup down and hugged the sheet around myself. "What happened to my clothes?"

"They were covered in blood and poison. Jace burned them."

"Did he?" asked I. "Tell me, is he always really rude, or does he save that for redheads.''

Oh, he's rude to everyone," said Isabelle airily. "It's what makes him so damn sexy. That, and he's killed more demons than anyone else his age."

I looked at her, perplexed. "Isn't he your brother?"

That got Isabella's attention. She laughed out loud. "Jace? My brother? No. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Well, he lives here with you," I pointed out. "Doesn't he?"

Isabelle nodded. "Well, yes, but..."

"Why doesn't he live with his own parents?"

For a fleeting moment Isabelle looked uncomfortable. "Because they're dead."

My mouth opened in surprise. "Did they die in an accident?"

"No." Isabelle fidgeted, pushing a dark lock of hair behind her left ear. "His mother died when he was born. His father was murdered when he was ten. Jace saw the whole thing."

"Oh," I said was all i said. After all, demigods face death all the time. This isn't anything new.

Isabelle got to her feet. "Look, I'd better let everyone know you've woken up. They've been waiting for you to open your eyes for three days. Oh, and there's soap in the bathroom," she added. "You might want to clean up a little. You smell."

I glared at her. "Thanks a lot."

"Any time."

Isabelle's clothes looked ridiculous. I had to roll the legs on the jeans up several times before I stopped tripping on them, and the plunging neckline of the red tank top only emphasized my lack of what Eric or the some of the Aphrodite kids would have called a "rack."

I cleaned up in the small bathroom, using a bar of hard lavender soap. Drying myself with a white hand towel left damp hair straggling around my face in fragrant tangles. I squinted at her reflection in the mirror. Nothing too major. A few scratches on my arm from the fight, my lips were also swollen and dry. But that's about it.

 _I have to call Luke._ _Surely there was a phone around here somewhere. Maybe they'd let me use it after she talked to Hodge. I should probably contact Percy as well, but Luke first._

I went over to the side table and wore my necklace. I found my Skechers placed neatly at the foot of the infirmary bed, my keys tied into the laces. Sliding my feet into them, I took a deep breath and left to find Isabelle.

I got up and went to find Isabelle. When i got to the corridor, i was perplexed to say the least. It was the same corridor i saw in some of my dreams as a kid. And dreams were always an important thing to demigods.

In the distance I could hear a faint and delicate noise, like wind chimes shaken by a storm. I followed the sound of the music through the long corridor. Decorated with Victorian-looking wallpaper and doors lining both sides.

The sound I was following grew louder. Now I could identify it as the sound of a piano being played with desultory but undeniable skill, though I couldn't identify the tune.

Turning the corner, I came to a doorway, the door propped fully open. Peering in I saw what was clearly a music room. A grand piano stood in one corner, and rows of chairs were arranged against the far wall. A covered harp occupied the center of the room.

Jace was seated at the grand piano, his slender hands moving rapidly over the keys. He was barefoot, dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt, his tawny hair ruffled up around his head as if he'd just woken up. Watching the quick, sure movements of his hands across the keys. I stood at the doorway and watched bewildered by the skill shown by him.

* * *

 **That brings us to the end of the next chapter. pls tell me if i'm not adding enough clace or if u want action or what.**

 **I'll try to update at least once a week but my schedule is a bit packed so no promises. Also please vote and comment. It shows ur support and tells me how and where to improve.**

 **Again i say that i own nothing, cause if i did then Sebastian would not have demon at all and Clary's life wouldn't be so messed up. I mean seriously people. She thought Jace was her biological brother. JACE!**

 **Anyway, hope u all r enjoying the story. That's all.**


	8. Clave and Convent

**BTW this chapter is really long and most of it is copied from the original city of bones book. So pls remember that all credits go to Cassandra Clare and Rick Riordan(for the pjo and hoo reference).**

 **Enjoy**

* * *

Jace POV

I suddenly felt a presence behind me. I stopped playing and turned around and keys jangled as I got to my feet. "Our own Sleeping Beauty. Who finally kissed you awake?"

"Nobody. I woke up on my own." Clary replied

"Was there anyone with you?"

"Isabelle, but she went off to get someone—Hodge, I think. She told me to wait, but—"

"I should have warned her about your habit of never doing what you're told." I squinted at her. "Are those Isabelle's clothes? They look ridiculous on you."

"I could point out that you burned my clothes." she stated

"It was purely precautionary." I slid the gleaming black piano cover closed. "Come on, I'll take you to Hodge."

The Institute was huge, a vast cavernous space that looked less like it had been designed according to a floor plan and more like it had been naturally hollowed out of rock by the passage of water and years. Through half-open doors Clary glimpsed countless identical small rooms, each with a stripped bed, a nightstand, and a large wooden wardrobe standing open. Pale arches of stone held up the high ceilings, many of the arches intricately carved with small figures. She noticed certain repeating motifs: angels and swords, suns and roses.

"Why does this place have so many bedrooms?" Clary asked. "I thought it was a research institute."

"This is the residential wing. We're pledged to offer safety and lodging to any Shadowhunter who requests it. We can house up to two hundred people here."

"But most of these rooms are empty."

"People come and go. Nobody stays for long. Usually it's just us—Alec, Isabelle, Max, their parents—and me and Hodge."

"Max?"

"You know Alec ans Izzy. Max is their youngest sibling. Right now he's over sees with his parents."

"On vacation?"

"Not exactly." I hesitated. "You can think of them as—as foreign diplomats, and of this as an embassy, of sorts. Right now they're in the Shadowhunter home country, working out some very delicate peace negotiations. They brought Max with them because he's so young."

"Shadowhunter home country?" Clary's head was spinning. "What's it called?"

"Idris."

"I've never heard of it."

"You wouldn't have." With superiority in my voice. "Mundanes don't know about it. There are wardings— protective spells—up all over the borders. If you tried to cross into Idris, you'd simply find yourself transported instantly from one border to the next. You'd never know what happened."

"So it's not on any maps?"

"Not mundie ones. For our purposes you can consider it a small country between Germany and France."

"But there isn't anything between Germany and France. Except Switzerland."

"Precisely," I said.

"I take it you've been there. To Idris, I mean."

"I grew up there." My voice was neutral, but I made sure to make it so it let her know that more questions in that direction would not be welcome. "Most of us do. There are, of course, Shadowhunters all over the world. We have to be everywhere, because demonic activity is everywhere. But to a Shadowhunter, Idris is always 'home.'"

"Like Mecca or Jerusalem," said she, thoughtfully. "So most of you are brought up there, and then when you grow up—"

"We're sent where we're needed," said I shortly. "And there are a few, like Isabelle and Alec, who grow up away from the home country because that's where their parents are. With all the resources of the Institute here, with Hodge's training—" I broke off. "This is the library."

They had reached an arch-shaped set of wooden doors. A blue Persian cat with yellow eyes lay curled in front of them. It raised its head as they approached and yowled. "Hey, Church," I said, stroking the cat's back with a bare foot. The cat slit its eyes in pleasure.

"Wait," said Clary. "Alec and Isabelle and Max—they're the only Shadowhunters your age that you know, that you spend time with?"

I stopped stroking the cat. _By the angel, does she have to ask so many questions._ "Yes."

"That must get kind of lonely."

"I have everything I need." I pushed the doors open. After a moment's hesitation she followed me inside.

Her eyes widened from all the books in the room, as I lead her to the center of the library. As we got to the middle, I saw Hodge sitting behind his desk.

Nobody's POV

Hodge looked up"A book lover, I see," he said, smiling at Clary. "You didn't tell me that, Jace."

Jace chuckled. Clary could tell that he had come up behind her and was standing there with his hands in his pockets, grinning that infuriating grin of his. "We haven't done much talking during our short acquaintance," he said. "I'm afraid our reading habits didn't come up."

Clary turned around and shot him a glare.

"How can you tell?" she asked the man behind the desk. "That I like books, I mean."

"The look on your face when you walked in," he said, standing up and coming around from behind the desk. "Somehow I doubted you were that impressed by me."

Clary stifled a gasp as he rose. For a moment it seemed to her that he was strangely misshapen, his left shoulder humped and higher than the other. As he approached, she saw that the hunch was actually a bird, perched neatly on his shoulder—a glossy feathered creature with bright black eyes.

"This is Hugo," the man said, touching the bird on his shoulder. "Hugo is a raven, and, as such, he knows many things. I, meanwhile, am Hodge Starkweather, a professor of history, and, as such, I do not know nearly enough."

Clary laughed a little, despite herself, and shook his outstretched hand. "Clary Fray."

"Honored to make your acquaintance," he said. "I would be honored to make the acquaintance of anyone who could kill a Ravener with her bare hands."

"It wasn't my bare hands." It was nothing strange being congratulated for killing something. I've got tons of praise and respect from the Aries and Athena kids for my kills. "I used something from the room."

"I didn't notice you holding anything when i found you." Jace said with a raised eyebrow.

"It was destroyed when i pushed it down the - ravener did you call it? Anyway, i shoved it down that monster's throat and it was destroyed along with the creature." i told them. I wasn't a lie but it wasn't the exact truth either.

When he smiled at Clary, a thousand small lines rayed out from around his eyes, like the cracks in an old painting. "That was quick thinking. Pushing something down the ravener's throat."

Before she could reply, a sharp laugh sounded through the room. Clary had been so enraptured by the books and distracted by Hodge that she hadn't seen Alec sprawled in an overstuffed red armchair by the empty fireplace. "I can't believe you buy that story, Hodge," he said.

Clary turned around to see who spoke. Standing at the door was a male version of Izzy. They had the same jet-black hair, the same slender eyebrows winging up at the corners, the same pale, high-colored lashes were long and dark like Isabelle's, but where her eyes were black, his were the dark blue of bottle glass. They gazed at Clary with a hostility as pure and concentrated as acid. Clary stared back unaffected by the hostility. She observed him, reading him for any sign of threat or weakness. A little trick she picked up from Annabeth.

"I'm not quite sure what you mean, Alec." Hodge raised an eyebrow. Clary wondered how old he was; there was a sort of agelessness to him, despite the gray in his hair. He wore a neat gray tweed suit, perfectly pressed. He would have looked like a kindly college professor if it hadn't been for the thick scar that drew up the right side of his face. She wondered how he had gotten it. "Are you suggesting that she didn't kill that demon after all?"

"Of course she didn't. Look at her—she's a mundie, Hodge, and a little kid, at that. There's no way she took on a Ravener."

"I'm not a little kid," Clary interrupted. "I'm sixteen years old—well, I will be on Sunday." _I'v e killed monster after monster, participated ion two wars and was one of the most respected people at camp! Stupid, narrow-minded, egotistical mortals._ Clary thought in rage.

"The same age as Isabelle," Hodge said. "Would you call her a child?"

"Isabelle hails from one of the greatest Shadowhunter dynasties in history," Alec said dryly. "This girl, on the other hand, hails from New Jersey."

"I'm from Brooklyn!" Clary was outraged. "And so what? I just killed a demon in my own house, and you're going to be a dickhead about it because I'm not some spoiled-rotten rich brat like you and your sister?"

Alec looked astonished. "What did you call me?"

Jace laughed. "She has a point, Alec," Jace said. "It's those bridge-and-tunnel demons you really have to watch out for—"

"It's not funny, Jace," Alec interrupted, starting to his feet. "Are you just going to let her stand there and call me names?"

"Yes," Jace said kindly. "It'll do you good—try to think of it as endurance training."

"We may be parabatai," Alec said tightly. "But your flippancy is wearing on my patience."

"And your obstinacy is wearing on mine. When I found her, she was lying on the floor in a pool of blood with a dying demon practically on top of her. I watched as it vanished. If she didn't kill it, who did?"

"Raveners are stupid. Maybe it got itself in the neck with its stinger. It's happened before—"

"Now you're suggesting it committed suicide?"

Alec's mouth tightened. "It isn't right for her to be here. Mundies aren't allowed in the Institute, and there are good reasons for that. If anyone knew about this, we could be reported to the Clave."

"That's not entirely true," Hodge said. "The Law does allow us to offer sanctuary to mundanes in certain circumstances. A Ravener has already attacked Clary's mother—she could well have been next."

"Raveners are search-and-destroy machines," Alec said. "They act under orders from warlocks or powerful demon lords. Now, what interest would a warlock or demon lord have in an ordinary mundane household?" His eyes when he looked at Clary were bright with dislike. "Any thoughts?"

Clary said, "It must have been a mistake."

"Demons don't make those kind of mistakes. If they went after your mother, there must have been a reason. If she were innocent—"

"What do you mean, 'innocent'?" Clary's voice was quiet and deadly.

Alec looked taken aback. "I—"

"What he means," said Hodge, "is that it is extremely unusual for a powerful demon, the kind who might command a host of lesser demons, to interest himself in the affairs of human beings. No mundane may summon a demon—they lack that power—but there have been some, desperate and foolish, who have found a witch or warlock to do it for them."

"My mother doesn't know any warlocks. She doesn't believe in magic." A thought occurred to Clary. "Madame Dorothea— she lives downstairs—she's a witch. Maybe the demons were after her and got my mom by mistake?"

Hodge's eyebrows shot up into his hair. "A witch lives downstairs from you?"

"She's a hedge-witch—a fake," Jace said. "I already looked into it. There's no reason for any warlock to be interested in her unless he's in the market for nonfunctional crystal balls."

"And we're back where we began." Hodge reached up to stroke the bird on his shoulder. "It seems the time has come to notify the Clave."

"No!" Jace said. "We can't—"

"It made sense to keep Clary's presence here a secret while we were not sure she would recover," Hodge said. "But now she has, and she is the first mundane to pass through the doors of the Institute in over a hundred years. You know the rules about mundane knowledge of Shadowhunters, Jace. The Clave must be informed."

"Absolutely," Alec agreed. "I could get a message to my father—"

"She's not a mundane," Jace said quietly.

Clary POV

 _Oh no, no, no ,no! They can't know about demigods. I didn't give any sign of it! Okay, keep calm Clary. Just relax and play along, remember you covered up your tracks so far. Just play along then, you can escaped to camp._

Hodge's eyebrows shot back up to his hairline and stayed there. Alec, caught in the middle of a sentence, choked with surprise. In the sudden silence I could hear the sound of Hugo's wings rustling. "But I am," she said.

"No," said Jace. "You aren't." He turned to Hodge, and I saw the slight movement of his throat as he swallowed. I found this glimpse of his nervousness oddly reassuring. "That night—there were Du'sien demons, dressed like police officers. We had to get past them. Clary was too weak to run, and there wasn't time to hide—she would have died. So I used my stele— put a mendelin rune on the inside of her arm. I thought—"

"Are you out of your mind?" Hodge slammed his hand down on top of the desk so hard that I thought the wood might crack. "You know what the Law says about placing Marks on mundanes! You—you of all people ought to know better!"

"But it worked," said Jace. "Clary, show them your arm."

With a baffled glance in Jace's direction, i moved my bracelet and sleeve from my left arm. Now, just below the crease of my wrist, i could see three faint overlapping circles, the lines as faint as the memory of a scar that had faded with the passage of years. "See, it's almost gone," Jace said. "It didn't hurt her at all."

"That's not the point." Hodge could barely control his anger. "You could have turned her into a Forsaken."

Two bright spots of color burned high up on Alec's cheekbones. "I can't believe you, Jace. Only Shadowhunters can receive Covenant Marks—they kill mundanes—"

"She's not a mundane. Haven't you been listening? It explains why she could see us. She must have Clave blood."

I lowered my arm, feeling suddenly cold. _Please no don't let this be the start of some other war. I don't want another war. Why? Why, must the fates hate me so much._ "But I don't. I couldn't."

"You must," Jace said, without looking at her. "If you didn't, that Mark I made on your arm..."

"That's enough, Jace," said Hodge, the displeasure clear in his voice. "There's no need to frighten her further."

"But I was right, wasn't I? It explains what happened to her mother, too. If she was a Shadowhunter in exile, she might well have Downworld enemies."

"My mother wasn't a Shadowhunter!"

"Your father, then," Jace said. "What about him?"

Clary returned his gaze with a flat stare. "He died. Before I was born." i lied. _My father maybe a god but there is no way he is a shadowhunter. Not that they need to know about gods._

Nobody's POV

Jace flinched, almost imperceptibly. It was Alec who spoke. "It's possible," he said uncertainly. "If her father were a Shadowhunter, and her mother a mundane—well, we all know it's against the Law to marry a mundie. Maybe they were in hiding."

"My mother would have told me," Clary said, although she thought of the lack of more than one photo of her father, the way her mother never spoke of him, and knew that it wasn't true.

"Not necessarily," said Jace. "We all have secrets."

"Luke," Clary said. "Our friend. He would know." With the thought of Luke came a flash of guilt and horror. "It's been three days—he must be frantic. Can I call him? Is there a phone?" She turned to Jace. "Please."

Jace hesitated, looking at Hodge, who nodded and moved aside from the desk. Behind him was a globe, made of beaten brass, that didn't look quite like other globes she had seen; there was something subtly strange about the shape of the countries and continents. Next to the globe was an old-fashioned black telephone with a silver rotary dial. Clary lifted it to her ear, the familiar dial tone washing over her like soothing water.

Luke picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Luke!" She sagged against the desk. "It's me. It's Clary."

"Clary." She could hear the relief in his voice, along with something else she couldn't quite identify. "You're all right?"

"I'm fine," she said. "I'm sorry I didn't call you before. Luke, my mom—"

"I know. The police were here."

"Then you haven't heard from her." Any vestigial hope that her mother had fled the house and hidden somewhere disappeared. There was no way she wouldn't have contacted Luke. "What did the police say?"

"Just that she was missing." Clary thought of the policewoman with her skeletal hand, and shivered. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the city," Clary said. "I don't know where exactly. With some friends. My wallet's gone, though. If you've got some cash, I could take a cab to your place—"

"No," he said shortly.

The phone slipped in her sweaty hand. She caught it. "What?"

"No," he said. "It's too dangerous. You can't come here."

"We could call—"

"Look." His voice was hard. "Whatever your mother's gotten herself mixed up in, it's nothing to do with me. You're better off where you are."

"But I don't want to stay here." She heard the whine in her voice, like a child's. "I don't know these people. You—"

"I'm not your father, Clary. I've told you that before."

Tears burned the backs of her eyes. "I'm sorry. It's just—"

"Don't call me for favors again," he said. "I've got my own problems, I don't need to be bothered with yours," he added, and hung up the phone.

She stood and stared at the receiver, the dial tone buzzing in her ear like a big ugly wasp. She dialed Luke's number again, waited. This time it went to voice mail. She banged the phone down, her hands trembling.

Jace was leaning against the armrest of Alec's chair, watching her. "I take it he wasn't happy to hear from you?"

Clary's heart felt as if it had shrunk down to the size of a walnut: a tiny, hard stone in her chest. I will not cry, she thought, Not in front of these people.

"I think I'd like to have a talk with Clary," said Hodge. "Alone," he added firmly, seeing Jace's expression.

Alec stood up. "Fine. We'll leave you to it."

"That's hardly fair," Jace objected. "I'm the one who found her. I'm the one who saved her life! You want me here, don't you?" he appealed, turning to Clary.

Clary looked away, knowing that if she opened her mouth, she'd start to cry. As if from a distance, she heard Alec laugh.

"Not everyone wants you all the time, Jace," he said.

"Don't be ridiculous," she heard Jace say, but he sounded disappointed. "Fine, then. We'll be in the weapons room."

The door closed behind them with a definitive click. Clary's eyes were stinging the way they did when she tried to hold tears back for too long. Hodge loomed up in front of her, a fussing gray blur. "Sit down," he said. "Here, on the couch."

She sank gratefully onto the soft cushions. Her cheeks were wet. She reached up to brush the tears away, blinking. "I don't cry much usually," she found herself saying. "It doesn't mean anything. I'll be all right in a minute."

"Most people don't cry when they're upset or frightened, but rather when they're frustrated. Your frustration is understandable. You've been through a most trying time."

"Trying?" Clary wiped her eyes on the hem of Isabelle's shirt. "You could say that."

Hodge pulled the chair out from behind the desk, dragging it over so that he could sit facing her. His eyes, she saw, were gray, like his hair and tweed coat, but there was kindness in them. "Is there anything I could get for you?" he asked. "Something to drink? Some tea?"

"I don't want tea," said Clary, with muffled force. "I want to find my mother. And then I want to find out who took her in the first place, and I want to kill them."

"Unfortunately," said Hodge, "we're all out of bitter revenge at the moment, so it's either tea or nothing."

Clary dropped the hem of the shirt—now spotted all over with wet blotches—and said, "What am I supposed to do, then?"

"You could start by telling me a little about what happened," Hodge said, rummaging in his pocket. He produced a handkerchief—crisply folded—and handed it to her. She took it with silent astonishment. She'd never before known anyone who carried a handkerchief. "The demon you saw in your apartment—was that the first such creature you'd ever seen? You had no inkling such creatures existed before?"

Clary shook her head, then paused. "One before, but I didn't realize what it was. The first time I saw Jace—"

"Right, of course, how foolish of me to forget." Hodge nodded. "In Pandemonium. That was the first time?"

"Yes."

"And your mother never mentioned them to you—nothing about another world, perhaps, that most people cannot see? Did she seem particularly interested in myths, fairy tales, legends of the fantastic—"

"No. She hated all that stuff. She even hated Disney movies. She didn't like me reading manga. She said it was childish."

Hodge scratched his head. His hair didn't move. "Most peculiar," he murmured.

"Not really," said Clary. "My mother wasn't peculiar. She was the most normal person in the world."

"Normal people don't generally find their homes ransacked by demons," Hodge said, not unkindly.

"Couldn't it have been a mistake?"

"If it had been a mistake," Hodge said, "and you were an ordinary girl, you would not have seen the demon that attacked you—or if you had, your mind would have processed it as something else entirely: a vicious dog, even another human being. That you could see it, you aren't a normal being."

"Raveners are generally under the control of a stronger demon. They're not very bright or capable on their own," explained Hodge. "Did it say what its master was looking for?"

Clary thought. "It said something about a Valentine, but—"

Hodge jerked upright, so abruptly that Hugo, who had been resting comfortably on his shoulder, launched himself into the air with an irritable caw. "Valentine?"

"Yes," Clary said. "Why, is it an important name?"

"It's a name we all know," Hodge said shortly. His voice was steady, but she could see a slight tremble in his hands. Hugo, back on his shoulder, ruffed his feathers uneasily.

"A demon?"

"No. Valentine is—was—a Shadowhunter."

"A Shadowhunter? Why do you say was?"

"Because he's dead," said Hodge flatly. "He's been dead for fifteen years."

Clary sank back against the couch cushions. Her head was throbbing. Maybe she should have gone for that tea after all. "Could it be someone else? Someone with the same name?"

Hodge's laugh was a humorless bark. "No. But it could have been someone using his name to send a message." He stood up and paced to his desk, hands locked behind his back. "And this would be the time to do it."

"Why now?"

"Because of the Accords."

"What's that?"

"A peace negotiation. With downworlders," Hodge murmured. He looked down at Clary. His mouth was a tight line. "Forgive me," he said. "This must be confusing for you."

"You think?"

He leaned against the desk, stroking Hugo's feathers absently. "Downworlders are those who share the Shadow World with us. We have always lived in an uneasy peace with them."

"Like vampires, werewolves, and..."

"The Fair Folk," Hodge said. "Faeries. And Lilith's children, being half-demon, are warlocks."

"So what are you Shadowhunters?"

"We are sometimes called the Nephilim," said Hodge. "In the Bible they were the offspring of humans and angels. The legend of the origin of Shadowhunters is that they were created more than a thousand years ago, when humans were being overrun by demon invasions from other worlds. A warlock summoned the Angel Raziel, who mixed some of his own blood with the blood of men in a cup, and gave it to those men to drink. Those who drank the Angel's blood became Shadowhunters, as did their children and their children's children. The cup thereafter was known as the Mortal Cup. Though the legend may not be fact, what is true is that through the years, when Shadowhunter ranks were depleted, it was always possible to create more Shadowhunters using the Cup."

"Was always possible?"

"The Cup is gone," said Hodge. "Destroyed by Valentine, just before he died. He set a great fire and burned himself to death along with his family, his wife, and his child. Scorched the land black. No one will build there still. They say the land is cursed."

"Is it?"

"Possibly. The Clave hands down curses on occasion as punishment for breaking the Law. Valentine broke the greatest Law of all—he took up arms against his fellow Shadowhunters and slew them. He and his group, the Circle, killed dozens of their brethren along with hundreds of Downworlders during the last Accords. They were only barely defeated."

"Why would he want to turn on other Shadowhunters?"

"He didn't approve of the Accords. He despised Downworlders and felt that they should be slaughtered, wholesale, to keep this world pure for human beings. Though the Downworlders are not demons, not invaders, he felt they were demonic in nature, and that that was enough. The Clave did not agree—they felt the assistance of Downworlders was necessary if we were ever to drive off demonkind for good. And who could argue, really, that the Fair Folk do not belong in this world, when they have been here longer than we have?"

"Did the Accords get signed?"

"Yes, they were signed. When the Downworlders saw the Clave turn on Valentine and his Circle in their defense, they realized Shadowhunters were not their enemies. Ironically, with his insurrection Valentine made the Accords possible." Hodge sat down in the chair again. "I apologize, this must be a dull history lesson for you. That was Valentine. A firebrand, a visionary, a man of great personal charm and conviction. And a killer. Now someone is invoking his name ..."

"But who?" Clary asked. "And what does my mother have to do with it?"

Hodge stood up again. "I don't know. But I shall do what I can to find out. I will send messages to the Clave and also to the Silent Brothers. They may wish to speak with you."

Clary didn't ask who the Silent Brothers were. She was tired of asking questions whose answers only made her more confused. She stood up. "Is there any chance I could go home?"

Hodge looked concerned. "No, I—I wouldn't think that would be wise."

"There are things I need there, even if I'm going to stay here. Clothes—"

"We can give you money to purchase new clothes."

"Please," Clary said. "I have to see if—I have to see what's left."

Hodge hesitated, then offered a short, inverted nod. "If Jace agrees to it, you may both go." He turned to the desk, rummaging among the papers. He glanced over his shoulder as if realizing she was still there. "He's in the weapons room."

"I don't know where that is."

Hodge smiled crookedly. "Church will take you."

She glanced toward the door where the fat blue Persian was curled up like a small ottoman. He rose as she came forward, fur rippling like liquid. With an imperious meow he led her into the hall. When she looked back over her shoulder, she saw Hodge already scribbling on a piece of paper. Sending a message to the mysterious Clave, she guessed. They didn't sound like very nice people. She wondered what their response would be.

The red ink looked like blood against the white paper. Frowning, Hodge Starkweather rolled the letter, carefully and meticulously, into the shape of a tube, and whistled for Hugo. The bird, cawing softly, settled on his wrist. Hodge winced. Years ago, in the Uprising, he had sustained a wound to that shoulder, and even as light a weight as Hugo's—or the turn of a season, a change in temperature or humidity, too sudden a movement of his arm—awakened old twinges and the memories of pains better forgotten.

There were some memories, though, that never faded. Images burst like flashbulbs behind his lids when he closed his eyes. Blood and bodies, trampled earth, a white podium stained with red. The cries of the dying. The green and rolling fields of Idris and its endless blue sky, pierced by the towers of the Glass City. The pain of loss surged up inside him like a wave; he tightened his fist, and Hugo, wings fluttering, pecked angrily at his fingers, drawing blood. Opening his hand, Hodge released the bird, who circled his head as he flew up to the skylight and then vanished.

Shaking off his sense of foreboding, Hodge reached for another piece of paper, not noticing the scarlet drops that smeared the paper as he wrote.

 _I'll stop by at camp after i ditch these guys on our way back. Then, i'll deal with this mess on my own. No need to involve more people than necessary._ Clary thought as she followed Church to Jace.

* * *

 **The End (of the chapter)**


	9. Forsaken

3rd Person Clary POV

The weapons room looked exactly the way something called "the weapons room" sounded like it would look. Brushed metal walls were hung with every manner of sword, dagger, spike, pike, featherstaff, bayonet, whip, mace, hook, and bow. Soft leather bags filled with arrows dangled from hooks, and there were stacks of boots, leg guards, and gauntlets for wrists and arms. The place smelled of metal and leather and steel polish. Alec and Jace, no longer barefoot, sat at a long table in the center of the room, their heads bent over an object between them. Jace looked up as the door shut behind Clary. "Where's Hodge?" he said.

"Writing to the Silent Brothers."

Alec repressed a shudder. "Ugh."

She approached the table slowly, conscious of Alec's gaze. "What are you doing?"

"Putting the last touches on these." Jace moved aside so she could see what lay on the table: three long slim wands of a dully glowing silver. They did not look sharp or particularly dangerous. "Sanvi, Sansanvi, and Semangelaf. They're seraph blades."

"Those don't look like knives. How did you make them? Special metal or something?"

"Yeah. They are made of adamas and crafted by the Iron Sisters. We call upon the power of angels' names to access the power of the blades. Before the blade can be used, a Shadowhunter must name it to invoke its power. "

"Wow."

"And it's nothing you need to know about." snapped Alec

Clary wanted to snap at him, but restrained herself. Alec already didn't seem to like her; there was no point in aggravating his hostility. She turned to Jace. "Hodge said I can go home."

Jace nearly dropped the seraph blade he was holding. "He said what?"

"To look through my mother's things," she amended. "If you go with me."

"Jace," Alec exhaled, but Jace ignored him.

"If you really want to prove that my mom or dad was a Shadowhunter, we should look through my mom's things. What's left of them."

"Down the rabbit hole." Jace grinned crookedly. "Good idea. If we go right now, we should have another three, four hours of daylight."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Alec asked, as Clary and Jace moved toward the door. Clary glanced back at him. He was half-out of the chair, eyes expectant.

"No." Jace didn't turn around. "That's all right. Clary and I can handle this on our own."

The look Alec shot Clary was as sour as poison. She was glad when the door shut behind her. _What the hell is that guy's problem._

Jace led the way down the hall, Clary half-jogging to keep up with his long-legged stride. "Have you got your house keys?"

Clary glanced down at her shoes. "Yeah."

"Good. Not that we couldn't break in, but we'd run a greater chance of disturbing any wards that might be up if we did."

"If you say so." The hall widened out into a marble-floored foyer, a black metal gate set into one wall. It was only when Jace pushed a button next to the gate and it lit up that she realized it was an elevator. It creaked and groaned as it rose to meet them. "Jace?"

"Yeah?"

"How did you know I had Shadowhunter blood? Was there some way you could tell?"

The elevator arrived with a final groan. Jace unlatched the gate and slid it open. The inside reminded Clary of a birdcage, all black metal and decorative bits of gilt. "I guessed," he said, latching the door behind them. "It seemed like the most likely explanation."

"You guessed? You must have been pretty sure, considering you could have killed me."

He pressed a button in the wall, and the elevator lurched into action with a vibrating groan that she felt all through the bones in her feet. "I was ninety percent sure."

"I see," Clary said.

There must have been something in her voice, because he turned to look at her. Her hand cracked across his face, a slap that rocked him back on his heels. He put his hand to his cheek, more in surprise than pain. _Should've slapped harder_. "What the hell was that for?"

"The other ten percent," she said, and they rode the rest of the way down to the street in silence.

Jace spent the train ride to Brooklyn wrapped in an angry silence. Clary inwardly smirked at the red hand print on Jace's face. _That'll teach him not to put my life in danger like that again. Got enough danger without him butting in._

She didn't really mind the silence; it gave her a chance to think. She kept reliving the conversation with Luke, over and over in her head. It hurt to think about, like biting down on a broken tooth, but she couldn't stop doing it. _One Luke betraying me hurt enough, it can't happen again. NO! He just has a lot on his plate trying to find mom and doesn't want me in the middle of it. Yeah, that's it._

Farther down the train, two teenage girls sitting on an orange bench seat were giggling together. The sort of girls Clary had never liked at St. Xavier's, sporting pink jelly mules and fake tans. Clary wondered for a moment if they were laughing at her, before she realized with a start of surprise that they were looking at Jace.

She remembered the girl in the coffee shop who had been staring at Simon. Girls always got that look on their faces when they thought someone was cute. She had nearly forgotten that Jace was cute, given everything that had happened. He didn't have Alec's delicate cameo looks, but Jace's face was more interesting. In daylight his eyes were the color of golden syrup and were...looking right at her. He cocked an eyebrow. "Can I help you with something?"

Clary turned instant traitor against her gender. "Those girls on the other side of the car are staring at you."

Jace assumed an air of mellow gratification. "Of course they are," he said. "I am stunningly attractive."

"Haven't you ever heard that modesty is an attractive trait?"

"Only from ugly people," Jace confided. "The meek may inherit the earth, but at the moment it belongs to the conceited. Like me." He winked at the girls, who giggled and hid behind their hair.

Clary sighed. "How come they can see you?"

"Glamours are a pain to use. Sometimes we don't bother." The incident with the girls on the train did seem to put him in a better mood. When they left the station and headed up the hill to Clary's apartment, he took one of the seraph blades out of his pocket and started flipping it back and forth between his fingers and across his knuckles, humming to himself.

"Do you have to do that?" Clary asked. "It's annoying."

Jace hummed louder. It was a loud, tuneful sort of hum, somewhere between "Happy Birthday" and "The Battle Hymn of the Republic."

"If I said sorry for smacking you would you stop?" she said.

He stopped humming. "Probably not and just be glad you hit me and not Alec. He would have hit you back."

"He seems to be itching for the chance," Clary said, kicking an empty soda can out of her path. "What was it that Alec called you? Para-something?"

"Parabatai," said Jace. "It means a pair of warriors who fight together—who are closer than brothers. Alec is more than just my best friend. My father and his father were parabatai when they were young. His father was my godfather—that's why I live with them. They're my adopted family."

"But your last name isn't Lightwood."

"No," Jace said, and she would have asked what it was, but they had arrived at her house, and her heart had started to thump so loudly that she was sure it must be audible for miles. There was a humming in her ears, and the palms of her hands were damp with sweat. She stopped in front of the box hedges, and raised her eyes slowly, expecting to see yellow police tape cordoning off the front door, smashed glass littering the lawn, the whole thing reduced to rubble.

But there were no signs of destruction. Bathed in pleasant afternoon light, the brownstone seemed to glow. Bees droned lazily around the rosebushes under Madame Dorothea's windows.

"It looks the same," Clary said.

"On the outside." Jace reached into his jeans pocket and drew out another one of the metal and plastic contraptions she'd mistaken for a cell phone.

"What's that and does it do?" she asked.

"This is a Sensor. It picks up frequencies, like a radio does, but these frequencies are demonic in origin."

"Demon shortwave?" _I'll have to get Leo to make one. Pretty cool idea._

"Something like that." Jace held the Sensor out in front of him as he approached the house. It clicked faintly as they climbed the stairs, then stopped. Jace frowned. "It's picking up trace activity, but that could just be left over from that night. I'm not getting anything strong enough for there to be demons present now."

Clary let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Good." She bent to retrieve her keys. When she straightened up, she saw the scratches on the front door. It must have been too dark for her to have seen them last time. They looked like claw marks, long and parallel, raked deeply into the wood.

Jace touched her arm. "I'll go in first," he said. Clary wanted to tell him that she didn't need to hide behind him, but just let him pass instead.

He pushed the door open with one hand, beckoning her after him with the hand that held the Sensor. Once inside the entryway, Clary blinked, adjusting her eyes to the dimness. The bulb overhead was still out, the skylight too filthy to let in any light, and shadows lay thick across the chipped floor. Madame Dorothea's door was firmly shut. No light showed through the gap under it. Clary wondered uneasily if anything had happened to her.

Jace raised his hand and ran it along the banister. It came away wet, streaked with something that looked blackish red in the dim light. "Blood."

"Mine would be dried by now." Clary stated "This looks fresh."

"Yeah, come on and stick close." Jace replied. _I don't need your protection. Oh, what would Thalia say if she saw me now!_

He headed up the stairs, Clary close behind him. The landing was dark, and she fumbled her keys three times before she managed to slide the right one into the lock. Jace leaned over her, watching impatiently. "Don't breathe down my neck," she hissed; her hand was shaking. Finally the tumblers caught, the lock clicking open.

Jace pulled her back. "I'll go in first."

She hesitated, then stepped aside to let him pass. Her palms were sticky, and not from the heat. In fact, it was cool inside the apartment, almost cold—chilly air seeped from the entryway, stinging her skin. She started fiddling with her bracelet.

It was empty. Startlingly, entirely empty, the way it had been when they'd first moved in—the walls and floor bare, the furniture gone, even the curtains torn down from the windows. Only faint lighter squares of paint on the wall showed where her mother's paintings had hung. As if in a dream, Clary turned and walked toward the kitchen, Jace pacing her, his light eyes narrowed.

The kitchen was just as empty, even the refrigerator gone, the chairs, the table—the kitchen cabinets stood open, their bare shelves reminding her of a nursery rhyme. She cleared her throat. "What would demons," she said, "want with our microwave?"

Jace shook his head, mouth curling under at the corners. "I don't know, but I'm not sensing any demonic presence right now. I'd say they're long gone."

She glanced around one more time. Someone had cleaned up the spilled Tabasco sauce, she noticed distantly.

"Are you satisfied?" Jace asked. "There's nothing here."

She shook her head. "I want to see my room."

He looked as if he were about to say something, then thought better of it. "If that's what it takes," he said, sliding the seraph blade into his pocket.

The light in the hallway was out, but Clary didn't need much light to navigate inside her own house. With Jace just behind her, she found the door to her bedroom and reached for the knob. It was cold in her hand—so cold it nearly hurt, like touching an icicle with your bare skin. She saw Jace look at her quickly, but she was already turning the knob, or trying to. It moved slowly, almost stickily, as if the other side of it were embedded in something glutinous and syrupy—

The door blew outward, knocking her off her feet. She skidded across the hallway floor and slammed into the wall, rolling onto her stomach. There was a dull roaring in her ears as she pulled herself up to her knees.

Jace, flat against the wall, was fumbling in his pocket, his face a mask of surprise. Looming over him like a giant in a fairy tale was an enormous man, big around as an oak tree, a broad-bladed axe clutched in one gigantic dead-white hand. Tattered filthy rags hung off his grimy skin, and his hair was a single matted tangle, thick with dirt. He stank of poisonous sweat and rotting flesh.

Jace had the seraph blade in his hand. He raised it, calling out:"Sansanvi!"

A blade shot from the 'd never seen a blade like this before: clear as glass, with a glowing hilt, wickedly sharp and nearly as long as Jace's forearm. He struck out, slashing at the gigantic man, who staggered back with a bellow.

Clary moved to the curtains and pulled the whole thing down, pole and all. As she separated the cloth from the pole her ADHD registered Jace laughing on the other side of the room, distracting the man. She took the pole in her fingers and twirled it for a second before lunging at the man.

3rd Person Jace POV

Jace was momentarily surprised that the sight in front of him. A petite mundane girl was battling the corps of a man. Twirling the pole between her fingers like a bow-staff, weaving and spinning away from his attacks, and delivering attacks of her own with such precision it almost seemed like she too had been training all her life.

She was knocked back into the sunlight and Jace caught his breath. She looked the a goddess as her red locks glistened as it captured the light, her sparkling green eyes like a raging like the seas themselves. _Wow, who is this girl. She looks like the daughter of an angel and a god_

Jace took the opening and brought the seraph blade around in an arcing sweep, burying it to the hilt in the giant's shoulder. For a moment the giant stood swaying. Then he turned and lurched forward, his hands outstretched and grasping. Jace stepped aside hastily, but not hastily enough: The enormous fists caught hold of him as the giant staggered and fell, dragging Jace in his wake. Jace cried out once; there was a series of heavy and cracking thumps, and then silence.

Clary scrambled to her feet and approached Jace. He was so still. She laid a hand on his shoulder, felt his shirt sticky with blood—his own or the giant's, she couldn't tell. "Jace?"

His eyes opened. "Is it dead?"

"Almost," Clary said grimly.

"Hell." He winced. "My legs—" _Man, why do I have to be so weak._

"Hold still." Crawling around to his head, Clary slipped her hands under his arms and pulled. He grunted with pain as his legs slipped out from under the creature's spasming carcass. Clary let go, and he struggled to his feet, his left arm across his chest. She stood up. "Is your arm all right?"

"No. Broken," _Curse that stupid Forsaken._ he said. "Can you reach into my pocket?"

She hesitated, nodded. "Which one?"

"Inside jacket, right side. Take out one of the seraph blades and hand it to me." He held still as she nervously slipped her fingers into his pocket. She was standing so close that she could smell the scent of him, sweat and soap and blood. His breath tickled the back of her neck. Her fingers closed on a tube and she drew it out, not looking at him. _Dang it, why do i want to touch her so badly. Get a grip Wayland._

3rd Person Clary POV

"Thanks," he said. His fingers traced it briefly before he named it: "Sanvi." Like its predecessor, the tube grew into a wicked-looking dagger, its glow illuminating his face. "Don't watch," he said, going to stand over the scarred thing's body. He raised the blade over his head and brought it down. Blood fountained from the giant's throat, splattering Jace's boots. I _t's not like i haven't seen death before._

She half-expected the giant to vanish, folding in on itself the way the kid in Pandemonium had. But it didn't. The air was full of the smell of blood: heavy and metallic. Jace made a sound low in his throat. He was white-faced, whether with pain or disgust she couldn't tell. "I told you not to watch," he said.

"I thought it would disappear," she said. "Back to its own dimension—you said."

"I said that's what happens to demons when they die." Wincing, he shrugged his jacket off his shoulder, baring the upper part of his left arm. "That wasn't a demon." With his right hand he drew something out of his belt. It was the smooth wand-shaped object he'd used to carve those overlapping circles into Clary's skin. Looking at it, she felt her forearm begin to burn.

Jace saw her staring and grinned the ghost of a grin. "This," he said, "is a stele." He touched it to an inked mark just below his shoulder, a curious shape almost like a star. Two arms of the star jutted out from the rest of the mark, unconnected. "And this," he said, "is what happens when Shadowhunters are wounded."

With the tip of the stele, he traced a line connecting the two arms of the star. When he lowered his hand, the mark was shining as if it had been etched with phosphorescent ink. As Clary watched, it sank into his skin, like a weighted object sinking into water. It left behind a ghostly reminder: a pale, thin scar, almost invisible.

An image rose in Clary's mind. Her mother's back, not quite covered by her bathing suit top, the blades of her shoulders and curves of her spine dappled with narrow, white marks. It was like something she had seen in a dream—her mother's back didn't really look like that, she knew. But the image nagged at her.

Jace let out a sigh, the tense look of pain leaving his face. He moved the arm, slowly at first, then more easily, lifting it up and down, clenching his fist. Clearly it was no longer broken.

"That's amazing," Clary said. "How did you—?"

"That was an iratze—a healing rune," Jace said. "Finishing the rune with the stele activates it." _Almost like ambrosia and nectar_. He shoved the slim wand into his belt and shrugged his jacket back on. With the toe of his boot he prodded the giant's corpse. "We're going to have to report this to Hodge," he said. "He'll freak out," he added, as if the thought of Hodge's alarm gave him some satisfaction. _Jace, was the sort of person who liked it when things were happening, even things that were bad. Arrogant mortal, doesn't know all the things thaty have happened. He wouldn't be so stuck up otherwise._

"Why will he freak?" Clary said. "And I get that that thing isn't a demon—that's why the Sensor didn't register it, right?"

Jace nodded. "You see the scars all over its face?"

"Yes."

"Those were made with a stele. Like this one." He tapped the wand in his belt. "You asked me what happens when you carve Marks onto someone who doesn't have Shadowhunter blood. Just one Mark will only burn you, but a lot of Marks, powerful ones? Carved into the flesh of a totally ordinary human being with no trace of Shadowhunter ancestry? You get this." He jerked his chin at the corpse. "The runes are agonizingly painful. The Marked ones go insane—the pain drives them out of their minds. They become fierce, mindless killers. They don't sleep or eat unless you make them, and they die, usually quickly. Runes have great power and can be used to do great good—but they can be used for evil. The Forsaken are evil."

Clary stared at him in horror. "But why would anyone do that to themselves?"

"Nobody would. It's something that gets done to them. By a warlock, maybe, some Downworlder gone bad. The Forsaken are loyal to the one who Marked them, and they're fierce killers. They can obey simple commands, too. It's like having a—a slave army." He stepped over the dead Forsaken, and glanced over his shoulder at her. "I'm going back upstairs."

"But there's nothing there."

"There might be more of them," he said, almost as if he were hoping there would be. "You should wait here." He started up the steps.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said a shrill and familiar voice. "There are more of them where the first one came from."

Jace, who was nearly at the top of the stairs, spun and stared. So did Clary, although she knew immediately who had spoken. That gravelly accent was unmistakable.

"Madame Dorothea?"

The old woman inclined her head regally. She stood in the doorway of her apartment, dressed in what looked like a tent made of raw purple silk. Gold chains glittered on her wrists and roped her throat. Her long badger-striped hair straggled from the bun pinned to the top of her head.

Jace was still staring. "But..."

""You have made a mess, haven't you? I'm sure you weren't planning on cleaning up either. Typical." Madame Dorothea sighed.

"But you're a mundane," Jace said, finally finishing his sentence.

"So observant," said Dorothea, her eyes gleaming. "The Clave really broke the mold with you."

The bewilderment on Jace's face was fading, replaced by a dawning anger. "You know about the Clave?" he demanded. "You knew about them, and you knew there were Forsaken in this house, and you didn't notify them? Just the existence of Forsaken is a crime against the Covenant—"

"Neither Clave nor Covenant have ever done anything for me," said Madame Dorothea, her eyes flashing angrily. "I owe them nothing." For a moment her gravelly New York accent vanished, replaced with something else, a thicker, deeper accent that Clary didn't recognize.

"Jace, stop it," Clary said. She turned to Madame Dorothea. "If you know about the Clave and the Forsaken," she said, "then maybe you know what happened to my mother?"

Dorothea shook her head, her earrings swinging. There was something like pity on her face. "My advice to you," she said, "is to forget about your mother. She's gone."

The floor under Clary seemed to tilt. "You mean she's dead?" her voice deadly quiet. _No, I can't lose anyone else in my life. Already so many people are gone, Luke, Ethan, Selena, Be-. NO! Stop that tis instant Clary your mother is alive._

"No." Dorothea spoke the word almost reluctantly. "I'm sure she's still alive. For now."

"Then I have to find her," Clary said. The world had stopped tilting; Jace was standing behind her, his hand on her elbow as if to brace her, but she barely noticed. "You understand? I have to find her before—"

Madame Dorothea held up a hand. "I don't want to involve myself in Shadowhunter business."

"But you knew my mother. She was your neighbor—"

"This is an official Clave investigation." Jace cut her off. "I can always come back with the Silent Brothers."

"Oh, for the—" Dorothea glanced at her door, then at Jace and Clary. "I suppose you might as well come in," she said, finally. "I'll tell you what I can." She started toward the door, then halted on the threshold, glaring. "But if you tell anyone I helped you, Shadowhunter, you'll wake up tomorrow with snakes for hair and an extra pair of arms."

"That might be nice, an extra pair of arms," Jace said. "Handy in a fight."

"Not if they're growing out of your..." Dorothea paused and smiled at him, not without malice. "Neck."

"Yikes," said Jace mildly.

"Yikes is right, Jace Wayland." Dorothea marched into the apartment, her purple tent flying around her like a gaudy flag.

Clary looked at Jace. "Wayland?"

"It's my name." Jace looked shaken. "I can't say I like that she knows it."

Clary glanced after Dorothea. The lights were on inside the apartment; already the heavy smell of incense was flooding the entryway, mixing unpleasantly with the stench of blood. "You're right. Names have power. Still, I think we might as well try talking to her. She might know something important."

"Why, should I come with you to hear her out." Jace questioned

""3 reasons. 1- You literal just threatened her for information. 2- You've come with me all the way here so i highly doubt you're gonna walk away now. But if you want to go ahead. 3- Something tells me that if you do come, there's gonna be more trouble and you just love trouble don't ya."

"Fine, get let's go Shortcake." Jace replied as Clary's eyes flashed dangerously at the nickname.

* * *

 **Hey guys! Sorry it took so long to update. I hope you like the chapter. Please read &review and if any of you have any ideas you want me to add to the story pls let me know in the comment section below.**

 **BTW- Clary's blood is 50% immortal because of Poseidon. 25% angel because of Jocelyn. 10% angel because of Valentine's experiment and 15% normal mortal blood.**

 **Final Tally-**

 **50% god**

 **35% angel**

 **15% mortal/human**


	10. The Five-Dimensional Door

3rd Peron Clary POV

Madame Dorothea's apartment seemed to have roughly the same layout as Clary's, though she'd made a very different use of the space. The entryway, reeking of incense, was hung with bead curtains and astrological posters. One showed the constellations of the zodiac, another a guide to Chinese magical symbols, and another showed a hand with fingers spread, each line on the palm carefully labeled. Above the hand Latinate script spelled out the words In Manibus Fortuna. Narrow shelves holding stacked books ran along the wall beside the door.

One of the bead curtains rattled, and Madame Dorothea poked her head through. "Interested in chiromancy?" she said, noting Clary's gaze. "Or just nosy?"

"Neither," Clary said. "Can you really tell fortunes?" _Probably a mortal favored by Apollo._

"My mother had a great talent. She could see a man's future in his hand or the leaves at the bottom of his teacup. She taught me some of her tricks." She transferred her gaze to Jace. "Speaking of tea, young man, would you like some?"

"What?" Jace said, looking flustered.

"Tea. I find it both settles the stomach and concentrates the mind. Wonderful drink, tea."

"I'll have tea," Clary said, realizing how long it had been since she had eaten or drunk anything. She felt as if she'd been running on pure adrenaline since she woke up.

Jace succumbed. "All right. As long as it isn't Earl Grey," he added, wrinkling his fine-boned nose. "I hate bergamot."

Madame Dorothea cackled loudly and disappeared back through the bead curtain, leaving it swaying gently behind her.

Clary raised her eyebrows at Jace. "You hate bergamot?"

Jace had wandered over to the narrow bookcase and was examining its contents. "You have a problem with that?"

"No. Just surprised you know what bergamot is."

"Yes, well," Jace said, with a supercilious look, "I'm not like other people. Besides," he added, flipping a book off the shelf, "at the Institute we have to take classes in basic medicinal uses for plants. It's required."

"Figures medicine would be an important thing when you're constantly killing or trying to be killed. Just thought that you would be more intrested in things like monster hunting 101."

Jace flipped a page. "Very funny, Fray."

Clary, who had been studying the palmistry poster, whirled on him. "Don't call me that."

He glanced up, surprised. "Why not? It's your last name, isn't it?"

The image of Simon rose up behind her eyes. Simon the last time she had seen him, staring after her as she ran out of Java Jones. She turned back to the poster, blinking. "No reason."

"I see," Jace said, and she could tell from his voice that he did see, more than she wanted him to. She heard him drop the book back onto the shelf. "This must be the trash she keeps up front to impress credible mundanes," he said, sounding disgusted. "There's not one serious text here."

"Whatever you say, oh wise and intelligent one! After all, I'm sure that you know magic so great that-" Clary's voice dripped in sarcasm.

He scowled furiously, silencing her. "I do not do magic," he said. "Get it through your head: Human beings are not magic users. It's part of what makes them human. Witches and warlocks can only use magic because they have demon blood."

Clary took a moment to process this. "Then, what are you're blades and stele thingies made of?"

"Those are magically enchanted.I use tools that are magical. And just to be able to do that, I have to undergo rigorous training. The rune tattoos on my skin protect me too. If you tried to use one of the seraph blades, for instance, it'd probably burn your skin, maybe kill you."

"What if I got the tattoos?" Clary asked. "Could I use them then?"

"No," Jace said crossly. "The Marks are only part of it. There are tests, ordeals, levels of training—look, just forget it, okay? Stay away from my blades. In fact, don't touch any of my weapons without my permission."

"Well, there goes my plan for selling them all on eBay," Clary muttered.

"Selling them on what?"

Clary smiled blandly at him. "A mythical place of great magical power."

Jace looked confused, then shrugged. "Most myths are true, at least in part."

"I'm starting to get that."

The bead curtain rattled again, and Madame Dorothea's head appeared. "Tea's on the table," she said. "There's no need for you two to keep standing there like donkeys. Come into the parlor."

"There's a parlor?" Clary said.

"Of course there's a parlor," said Dorothea. "Where else would I entertain?"

"I'll just leave my hat with the footman," said Jace.

Madame Dorothea shot him a dark look. "If you were half as funny as you thought you were, my boy, you'd be twice as funny as you are." She disappeared back through the curtain, her loud "Hmph!" nearly drowned out by rattling beads.

Jace frowned. "I'm not quite sure what she meant by that."

"Really," said Clary. "It made perfect sense to me." She marched through the bead curtain before he could reply.

The parlor was so dimly lit that it took several blinks for Clary's eyes to adjust. Faint light outlined the black velvet curtains drawn across the entire left wall. Stuffed birds and bats dangled from the ceiling on thin cords, shiny dark beads where their eyes should have been. The floor was layered with frayed Persian rugs that spit up puffs of dust underfoot. A group of overstuffed pink armchairs were gathered around a low table: A stack of tarot cards bound with a silk ribbon occupied one end of the table, a crystal ball on a gold stand the other. In the middle of the table was a silver tea service, laid out for company: a neat plate of stacked sandwiches, a blue teapot unfurling a thin stream of white smoke, and two teacups on matching saucers set carefully in front of two of the armchairs.

"Wow," Clary said weakly. "This looks great." She took a seat in one of the armchairs. It felt good to sit down.

Dorothea smiled, her eyes glinting with a sly humor. "Have some tea," she said, hefting the pot. "Milk? Sugar?"

Clary looked sideways at Jace, who was sitting beside her and who had taken possession of the sandwich plate. He was examining it closely. "Sugar," she said.

Jace shrugged, took a sandwich, and set the plate down. Clary watched him warily as he bit into it. He shrugged again. "Cucumber," he said, in response to her stare.

"I always think cucumber sandwiches are just the thing for tea, don't you?" Madame Dorothea inquired, of no one in particular.

"I hate cucumber," Jace said, and handed the rest of his sandwich to Clary. She bit into it—it was seasoned with just the right amount of mayonnaise and pepper. Her stomach rumbled in grateful appreciation of the first food she'd tasted since the nachos she'd eaten with Simon.

"Cucumber and bergamot," Clary said. "Is there anything else you hate that I ought to know about?"

Jace looked at Dorothea over the rim of his teacup. "Liars," he said.

Calmly the old woman set her teapot down. "You can call me a liar all you like. It's true, I'm not a witch. But my mother was."

Jace choked on his tea. "That's impossible."

"Why impossible?" Clary asked curiously. She took a sip of her tea. It was bitter, strongly flavored with a peaty smokiness.

Jace expelled a breath. "Because they're half-human, half-demon. All witches and warlocks are crossbreeds. And because they're crossbreeds, they can't have children. They're sterile."

"Like mules," Clary said thoughtfully, remembering something from biology class. "Mules are sterile crossbreeds."

"Your knowledge of livestock is astounding," said Jace. "All Downworlders are in some part demon, but only warlocks are the children of demon parents. It's why their powers are the strongest."

"Vampires and werewolves—they're part demon too? And faeries?"

"Vampires and werewolves are the result of diseases brought by demons from their home dimensions. Most demon diseases are deadly to humans, but in these cases they worked strange changes on the infected, without actually killing them. And faeries—"

"Faeries are fallen angels," said Dorothea, "cast down out of heaven for their pride."

"That's the legend," Jace said. "It's also said that they're the offspring of demons and angels, which always seemed more likely to me. Good and evil, mixing together. Faeries are as beautiful as angels are supposed to be, but they have a lot of mischief and cruelty in them. And you'll notice most of them avoid midday sunlight—"

"For the devil has no power," said Dorothea softly, as if she were reciting an old rhyme, "except in the dark."

Jace scowled at her. Clary said, "'Supposed to be'? You mean angels don't—"

"Enough about angels," said Dorothea, suddenly practical. "It's true that warlocks can't have children. My mother adopted me because she wanted to make sure there'd be someone to attend this place after she was gone. I don't have to master magic myself. I have only to watch and guard."

"Guard what?" asked Clary. _If she's another sicko creature from the pit I swear to the gods-_

"What indeed?" With a wink the older woman reached for a sandwich from the plate, but it was empty. Clary had eaten them all. Dorothea chuckled. "It's good to see a young woman eat her fill. In my day, girls were robust, strapping creatures, not twigs like they are nowadays."

"Thanks," Clary said. She thought of Isabelle's tiny waist and felt suddenly gigantic. She set her empty teacup down with a clatter.

Instantly, Madame Dorothea pounced on the cup and stared into it intently, a line appearing between her penciled eyebrows.

"What?" Clary said nervously. "Did I crack the cup or something?"

"She's reading your tea leaves," Jace said, sounding bored, but he leaned forward along with Clary as Dorothea turned the cup around and around in her thick fingers, scowling.

"Is it bad?" Clary asked.

"It is neither bad nor good. It is confusing." Dorothea looked at Jace. "Give me your cup," she commanded. _First time I've heard that before. My future is always bad or horrib_ le.

Jace looked affronted. "But I'm not done with my—"

The old woman snatched the cup out of his hand and splashed the excess tea back into the pot. Frowning, she gazed at what remained. "I see violence in your future, a great deal of blood shed by you and others. You'll fall in love with the wrong person. Also, you have an enemy."

"Only one? That's good news." Jace leaned back in his chair as Dorothea put down his cup and picked up Clary's again. She shook her head.

"There is nothing for me to read here. The images are jumbled, meaningless." She glanced at Clary. "Is there a block in your mind?"

Clary was puzzled. "A what?"

"Like a spell that might conceal a memory, or might have blocked out your Sight."

Clary shook her head. "No, of course not."

Jace leaned forward alertly. "Don't be so hasty," he said. "It's true that she claims not to remember ever having had the Sight before this week. Maybe—"

"Maybe I'm just a late developer," Clary snapped. "And don't leer at me, just because I said that."

Jace assumed an injured air. "I wasn't going to."

"You were working up to a leer, I could tell."

"Maybe," Jace acknowledged, "but that doesn't mean I'm not right. Something's blocking your memories, I'm almost sure of it." _No, no memory tampering. I got enough of the experience from Percy and Jason and little miss queen of cows on Olympus._

"Very well, let's try something else." Dorothea put the cup down, and reached for the silk-wrapped tarot cards. She fanned the cards and held them out to Clary. "Slide your hand over these until you touch one that feels hot or cold, or seems to cling to your fingers. Then draw that one and show it to me."

Obediently Clary ran her fingers over the cards. They felt cool to the touch, and slippery, but none seemed particularly warm or cold, and none stuck to her fingers. Finally she selected one at random, and held it up.

"The Ace of Cups," Dorothea said, sounding bemused. "The love card." _Aphrodite, you'd better not have made me you're latest love story._

Clary turned it over and looked at it. The card was heavy in her hand, the image on the front thick with real paint. It showed a hand holding up a cup in front of a rayed sun painted with gilt. The cup was made of gold, engraved with a pattern of smaller suns and studded with rubies. The style of the artwork was as familiar to her as her own breath. "Love. What a complex feeling."

"Indeed. The most terrible things men do, they do in the name of love," said Madame Dorothea, her eyes gleaming. "But it is a powerful card. What does it mean to you?"

"That my mother painted it," said Clary, and dropped the card onto the table. "She did, didn't she?"

Dorothea nodded, a look of pleased satisfaction on her face. "She painted the whole pack. A gift for me."

"So you say." Jace stood up, his eyes cold. "How well did you know Clary's mother?"

Clary craned her head to look up at him. "Jace, you don't have to—"

Dorothea sat back in her chair, the cards fanned out across her wide chest. "Jocelyn knew what I was, and I knew what she was. We didn't talk about it much. Sometimes she did favors for me—like painting this pack of cards—and in return I'd tell her the occasional piece of Downworld gossip. There was a name she asked me to keep an ear out for, and I did."

Jace's expression was unreadable. "What name was that?"

"Valentine."

Clary sat straight up in her chair. "But that's—"

"And when you say you knew what Jocelyn was, what do you mean? What was she?" Jace asked.

"Jocelyn was what she was," said Dorothea. "But in her past she'd been like you. A Shadowhunter. One of the Clave."

"No," Clary whispered. _Not more monsters and death. Please father, spare me more sadness and heartbreak._

Dorothea looked at her with sad, almost kindly eyes. "It's true. She chose to live in this house precisely because—"

"Because this is a Sanctuary," Jace said to Dorothea. "Isn't it? Your mother was a Control. She made this space, hidden, protected—it's a perfect spot for Downworlders on the run to hide out. That's what you do, isn't it? You hide criminals here."

"You would call them that," Dorothea said. "You're familiar with the motto of the Covenant?"

"Sed lex dura lex," said Jace automatically. "'The Law is hard, but it is the Law.'"

"Sometimes the Law is too hard. I know the Clave would have taken me away from my mother if they could. You want me to let them do the same to others?"

"So you're a philanthropist." Jace's lip curled. "I suppose you expect me to believe that Downworlders don't pay you handsomely for the privilege of your Sanctuary?"

Dorothea grinned, wide enough to show a flash of gold molars. "We can't all get by on our looks like you."

Jace looked unmoved by the flattery. "I should tell the Clave about you—"

"You can't!" Clary was on her feet now. "You promised."

"I never promised anything." Jace looked mutinous. He strode to the wall and tore aside one of the velvet hangings. "You want to tell me what this is?" he demanded.

"It's a door, Jace," said Clary. It was a door, set strangely in the wall between the two bay windows. Clearly it couldn't be a door that led anywhere, or it would have been visible from the outside of the house. It looked as if it were made of some softly glowing metal, more buttery than brass but as heavy as iron. The knob had been cast in the shape of an eye.

"Shut up," Jace said angrily. "It's a Portal. Isn't it?"

"It's a five-dimensional door," said Dorothea, laying the tarot cards back on the table. "Dimensions aren't all straight lines, you know," she added, in response to Clary's blank look. "There are dips and folds and nooks and crannies all tucked away. It's a bit hard to explain when you've never studied dimensional theory, but, in essence, that door can take you anywhere in this dimension that you want to go. It's—"

"An escape hatch," Jace said. "That's why your mother wanted to live here. So she could always flee at a moment's notice."

"Then why didn't she—" Clary began, and broke off, suddenly horrified. "Because of me," she said. "She wouldn't leave without me that night. So she stayed."

Jace was shaking his head. "You can't blame yourself."

Feeling tears gather under her eyelids, Clary pushed past Jace to the door. "I want to see where she would have gone," she said, reaching for the door. "I want to see where she was going to escape to—" Let the hunt, begin. _I will find you mother, i swear on the river styx._

"Clary, no!" Jace reached for her, but her fingers had already closed around the knob. It spun rapidly under her hand, the door flying open as if she'd pushed it. Dorothea lumbered to her feet with a cry, but it was too late. Before she could even finish her sentence, Clary found herself flung forward and tumbling through empty space.

* * *

 **Destiny: Hey guys. Hope you're day has been spectacular so far.**

 **Clary: Mine would be better if you hurried the hell up and start updating faster.**

 **Destiny: (light chuckle) Yeah well... You know how it is, school, homework, classes exams.**

 **Jace: Excuses, excuses! I believe you just don't want to continue writing so that i won't end up with Clary and you can have me to yourself.**

 **Destiny: I'm sorry did you say something, hon? (evil glare scarier than Percy against Akhyls)**

 **Jace: N-n-nothing**

 **Clary: Gasp, is the greatest shadowhunter ever actually scared! (snickers)**

 **Destiny:He should be. How dare an insolent mortal say that to a huntress of Artemis! You think the fates are bad, just wait an see what destiny is like.**

 **Jace runs away screaming like a baby with Destiny on his heels.**

 **Clary: fandomgirl231, does not own anything. Please r &r. Don't forget to live you're life to the fullest. Peace, OUT.**


	11. Weapon of Choice

3rd person Clary POV

She was too surprised to scream. The sensation of falling was the worst part; her heart flew up into her throat and her stomach turned to water. She spread her arms out and glanced around. It only took her a second but her ADHD immediately locked on to a branch. She reached out to grab it.

Her hands closed on branches. Leaves tore off in her grip. She thumped to the ground, hard, her hip and shoulder striking packed earth. She rolled over, sucking the air back into her lungs. She was just beginning to sit up when someone landed on top of her.

She was knocked backward. A forehead banged against hers, her knees banging against someone else's. Tangled up in arms and legs, Clary coughed hair—not her own—out of her mouth and tried to struggle out from under the weight that felt like it was crushing her flat.

3rd person Jace POV

"Ouch," Jace said in her ear, his tone indignant. "You elbowed me." _Why is my heart racing? This never happened before._

"Well, you landed on me."

He levered himself up on his arms and looked down at her placidly. Clary could see blue sky above his head, a bit of tree branch, and the corner of a gray clapboard house. "Well, you didn't leave me much choice, did you?" he asked. "Not after you decided to leap merrily through that Portal like you were jumping the F train. You're just lucky it didn't dump us out in the East River."

"You didn't have to come after me."

"Yes, I did," he said. "You're far too inexperienced to protect yourself in a hostile situation without me."

"That's cute, you think I need someone to protect me.."

"Of course you do." Jace scoffed. "Do you not understand that this world is more dangerous than it seems?"

"Do you not understand that I am clearly able to defend myself?"

"Those moves back in your room will hardly be able to protect you. But speaking of it, where did you learn them?" Jace wondered.

"Summer martial arts camp." Clary lied smoothly. "Since you care so much, I might just forgive you."

"Forgive me? Forwhat?"

"For telling me to shut up."

His eyes narrowed. "I did not ... Well, I did, but you were—" _Did I just stutter. I never stutter!_

"Never mind." Her arm, pinned under her back, was beginning to cramp. Rolling to the side to free it, she saw the brown grass of a dead lawn, a chain-link fence, and more of the gray clapboard house, now distressingly familiar.

She froze. "I know where we are."

Jace stopped spluttering. "What?"

"This is Luke's house." She sat up, pitching Jace to the side. He rolled gracefully to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. She ignored him and scrambled upright, shaking out her numb arm.

They stood in front of a small gray row house, nestled among the other row houses that lined the Williamsburg waterfront. A breeze blew off the East River, setting a small sign swinging over the brick front steps. Clary watched Jace as he read the block-lettered words aloud: "GARROWAY BOOKS. FINE USED, NEW, AND OUT OF PRINT. CLOSED SATURDAYS." He glanced at the dark front door, its knob wound with a heavy padlock. A few days' worth of mail lay on the doormat, untouched. He glanced at Clary. "He lives in a bookstore?"

"He lives behind the store." Clary glanced up and down the empty street, which was bordered on one end by the arched span of the Williamsburg Bridge, and by a deserted sugar factory on the other. Across the sluggishly moving river the sun was setting behind the skyscrapers of lower Manhattan, outlining them in gold. "Jace, how did we get here?"

"Through the Portal," Jace said, examining the padlock. "It takes you to whatever place you're thinking of."

"But I wasn't thinking of here," Clary objected. "I wasn't thinking of anywhere."

"You must have been." He dropped the subject, seeming uninterested. "So, since we're here anyway ..."

"Yeah?"

"What do you want to do?"

"Leave, I guess," Clary said bitterly. "Luke told me not to come here."

Jace shook his head. "And you just accept that?"

Clary hugged her arms around herself. Despite the fading heat of the day, she felt cold. "Well I guess we could go check on him."

"Yeah right." Jace chuckled. "If I were you, I'd be pretty curious about Luke right now, too. Do you have keys to the house?" _Now that''s the spirit of adventure._

Clary shook her head. "No, but sometimes he leaves the back door unlocked." She pointed to the narrow alley between Luke's row house and the next. Plastic trash cans were propped in a neat row beside stacks of folded newspapers and a plastic tub of empty soda bottles. At least Luke was still a responsible recycler.

"You sure he isn't home?" Jace asked.

She glanced at the empty curb. "Well, his truck's gone, the store's closed, and all the lights are off. I'd say probably not."

"Then lead the way."

The narrow aisle between the row houses ended in a high chain-link fence. It surrounded Luke's small back garden, where the only plants flourishing seemed to be the weeds that had sprung up through the paving stones, cracking them into powdery shards.

"Up and over," Jace said, jamming the toe of a boot into a gap in the fence. He began to climb. The fence rattled so loudly that Clary glanced around nervously, but there were no lights on in the neighbors' house. Jace cleared the top of the fence and sprang down the other side, landing in the bushes to the accompaniment of an earsplitting yowl.

For a moment Clary thought he must have landed on a stray cat. She heard Jace shout in surprise as he fell backward. A dark shadow—much too big to be feline—exploded out of the shrubbery and streaked across the yard, keeping low. Rolling to his feet, Jace darted after it, looking murderous.

Clary started to climb. As she threw her leg over the top of the fence, Isabelle's jeans caught on a twist of wire and tore up the side. She dropped to the ground, shoes scuffing the soft dirt, just as Jace cried out in triumph. "Got him!" Clary turned to see Jace sitting on top of the prone intruder, whose arms were up over his head. Jace grabbed for his wrist. "Come on, let's see your face—"

"Get the hell off me, you pretentious asshole," the intruder snarled, shoving at Jace. He struggled halfway into a sitting position, his battered glasses knocked askew.

Clary stopped dead in her tracks. "Simon?"

"Oh, God," said Jace, sounding resigned. "And here I'd actually hoped I'd got hold of something interesting."

"But what were you doing hiding in Luke's bushes?" Clary asked, brushing leaves out of Simon's hair. He suffered her ministrations with glaring bad grace. Somehow when she'd pictured her reunion with Simon, when all this was over, he'd been in a better mood. "That's the part I don't get." _Why do I feel like murdering the mundane? And why is Clary moving so close to him?_

"All right, that's enough. I can fix my own hair, Fray," Simon said, jerking away from her touch. They were sitting on the steps of Luke's back porch. Jace had propped himself on the porch railing and was assiduously pretending to ignore them, while using the stele to file the edges of his fingernails. Clary wondered if the Clave would approve.

"I mean, did Luke know you were there?" she asked.

"Of course he didn't know I was there," Simon said irritably. "I've never asked him, but I'm sure he has a fairly stringent policy about random teenagers lurking in his shrubbery."

"You're not random; he knows you." She wanted to reach out and touch his cheek, still bleeding slightly where a branch had scratched it. "The main thing is that you're all right."

"That I'm all right?" Simon laughed, a sharp, unhappy sound. "Clary, do you have any idea what I've been through this past couple of days? The last time I saw you, you were running out of Java Jones like a bat out of hell, and then you just ... disappeared. You never picked up your cell—then your home phone was disconnected—then Luke told me you were off staying with some relatives upstate when I know you don't have any other relatives. I thought I'd done something to piss you off."

"What could you possibly have done?" Clary reached for his hand, but he pulled it back without looking at her.

"I don't know," he said. "Something."

Jace, still occupied with the stele, chuckled low under his breath.

"You're my best friend," Clary said. "I wasn't mad at you."

"Yeah, well, you clearly also couldn't be bothered to call me and tell me you were shacking up with some dyed-blond wannabe goth you probably met at Pandemonium," Simon pointed out sourly. "After I spent the past three days wondering if you were dead."

"I was not shacking up," Clary said, glad of the darkness as the blood rushed to her face.

"And my hair is naturally blond," said Jace. "Just for the record."

"So what have you been doing these past three days, then?" Simon said, his eyes dark with suspicion. "Do you really have a great-aunt Matilda who contracted avian flu and needed to be nursed back to health?"

"Did Luke actually say that?" _A mundanes the kind of excuses they come up with._

"No. He just said you had gone to visit a sick relative, and that your phone probably just didn't work out in the country. Not that I believed him. After he shooed me off his front porch, I went around the side of the house and looked in the back window. Watched him packing up a green duffel bag like he was going away for the weekend. That was when I decided to stick around and keep an eye on things."

"Why? Because he was packing a bag?"

"He was packing it full of weapons," Simon said, scrubbing at the blood on his cheek with the sleeve of his T-shirt. "Knives, a couple daggers, even a sword. Funny thing is, some of the weapons looked like they were glowing." He looked from Clary to Jace, and back again. His tone was edged as sharply as one of Luke's knives. "Now, are you going to say I was imagining it?" _Now this is interesting._

"No," Clary said. "I'm not going to say that." She glanced at Jace. The last light of sunset struck gold sparks from his eyes. She said, "I want to talk to him."

"Of course you do."

"Alone!"

He looked up at Clary,the stele still in his hand. "Why would you want to do that? " he said. "I think I'll stay right here and listen in. Your conversation has been quite amusing so far." _Like I'm leaving these two alone._

She whirled onto Jace her eyes flashing. "Listen up, I said ! want to talk to my best friend and you will allow me to do so. And no eavesdropping either got it." adding in a bit of charmspeak curtsy of Piper.

Clary POV

I charmspeak Jace into letting me talk to Simon. He walks away as I grag Simon a little bit away from Jace.

"Clary, what the hell is going on? And please no lies." Simon pleads.

"I'm not going to lie to you, i promise." I take a deep breath. " Simon, you know that I not like other people. I have ADHD, I have an obsession with the greek gods and I always disappear to a summer camp every year."

"Yeah, but what does that have to do with everything?"

"i'm getting to that, and please don't interrupt. My world, my life has been one crazy roller coaster ever since i was 12."

"Isn't that around when you started going to that camp?" Simon said

"Yes and stop interrupting." I glare.

"sorry" he mumbles

I start to explain everything to Simon. Not with all the details but the basic gist of it.

"I know you have a lot of questions, but I can't answer them right now. Do you remember where Percy's place is?" I say hastily.

"Yea - yeah. We use to go to his house after school. Wait, you mean he's the same Percy from your story!?" Simon exclaims.

"Yes, and I need you to go to his house. Tell him everything I told you, ask him all your questions and tell him to take you to camp with him. We were both suppose to head their this weekend. I haven't had a chance to talk too him yet."

"Wait a sec. You're telling me to go, what about you? I am not leaving you alone."

"I'll be fine. Just get to Percy. There's more than one plot at work here. I'm coming to camp this weekend, one way or another. I'll meet you there don't worry"

"Alright, I'm trusting you Fray. Don't you dare disappoint me." He says heading to Percy's House.

Jace starts making his way over. I sigh and turn to face him. The sun had actually started to dip over the horizon. I had no idea that I took so much time.

"You finally done?" He questioned. "Where'd your dorky friend go?"

"Simon is not a dork. And I sent him of to our friend's house"

Jace slid off the porch railing. "So are we going to search the house, or not?"

"Alright, let's get going."

Clary 3rd Person POV

Clary fumbled for the doorknob in the dark. It opened, triggering the porch light, which illuminated the entryway. The door that led into the bookstore was closed; Clary jiggled the knob. "It's locked."

"Allow me, mundanes," said Jace, setting her gently aside. He took his stele out of his pocket and put it to the door. With a click the door swung open. "Here we go," said Jace, sliding his stele back into his pocket. Clary saw the Mark on the door—just over his head—fade as they passed through it. The back door opened onto a small storage room, the bare walls peeling paint. Cardboard boxes were stacked everywhere, their contents identified with marker scrawls: FICTION, POETRY, COOKING, LOCAL INTEREST, ROMANCE.

"The apartment's through there." Clary headed toward the door she'd indicated, at the far end of the room.

Jace caught her arm. "Wait."

She looked at him nervously. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't know." He edged between two narrow stacks of boxes, and whistled. "Clary, you might want to come over here and see this."

She glanced around. It was dim in the storage room, the only illumination the porch light shining through the window. "It's so dark—"

Light flared up, bathing the room in a brilliant glow. Jace chuckled. He was standing on top of a sealed box, his hand raised. Something glowed in his palm, the light escaping through his cupped fingers. "Witchlight," he said. _I have got to get one of this._

Clary was already clambering through the boxes, pushing a way to Jace. He was standing behind a teetering pile of mysteries, the witchlight casting an eerie glow over his face. "Look at that," he said, indicating a space higher up on the wall.

At first she thought he was pointing at what looked like a pair of ornamental sconces. As her eyes adjusted, she realized they were actually loops of metal attached to short chains, the ends of which were sunk into the wall. "Are those—"

"Manacles, but why -" Jace reached up to run his hand along the inside of one of the metal loops. When he lowered it, his fingers were dusted with red-brown powder. "Blood. And look." He pointed to the wall right around where the chains were sunk in; the plaster seemed to bulge outward. "Someone tried to yank these things out of the wall. Tried pretty hard, from the looks of it."

Clary's heart had begun to beat hard inside her chest. "Do you think Luke is all right?"

Jace lowered the witchlight. "I think we'd better find out."

The door to the apartment was unlocked. It led into Luke's living room. Despite the hundreds of books in the store itself, there were hundreds more in the apartment. Bookshelves rose to the ceiling, the volumes on them "double-parked," one row blocking another. Most were poetry and fiction, with plenty of fantasy and mystery thrown in. Clary remembered plowing through the entirety of The Chronicles of Prydain here, curled up in Luke's window seat as the sun went down over the East River.

"I think he's still around," called Clary, standing in the doorway of Luke's small kitchenette. "The percolator's on and there's coffee here. Still hot."

Clary peered around the kitchen door. Dishes were stacked in the sink. Luke's jackets were hung neatly on hooks inside the coat closet. She walked down the hallway and opened the door of his small bedroom. It looked the same as ever, the bed with its gray coverlet and flat pillows unmade, the top of the bureau covered in loose change. She turned away. Some part of her had been absolutely certain that when they walked in they'd find the place torn to pieces, and Luke tied up, injured or worse. Now she didn't know what to think.

Numbly she crossed the hall to the little guest bedroom where she'd so often stayed when her mother was out of town on business. They'd stay up late watching old horror movies on the flickering black-and-white TV. She even kept a backpack full of extra things here so she didn't have to lug her stuff back and forth from home.

Kneeling down, she tugged it out from under the bed by its olive-green strap. It was covered with buttons, most of which Simon had given her. GAMERS DO IT BETTER. OTAKU WENCH. STILL NOT KING. Inside were some folded clothes, a few spare pairs of underwear, a hairbrush, even shampoo. Thank God, she thought, and kicked the bedroom door closed. Quickly she changed, stripping off Isabelle's too-big—and now grass-stained and sweaty—clothes, and pulling on a pair of her own sandblasted cords, soft as worn paper, and a blue tank top with a design of Chinese characters across the front. She tossed Isabelle's clothes into her backpack, yanked the cord shut, and left the bedroom, the pack bouncing familiarly between her shoulder blades. It was nice to have something of her own again.

She found Jace in Luke's book-lined office, examining a green duffel bag that lay unzipped across the desk. It was, as Simon had said, full of weapons—sheathed knives, a coiled whip, and something that looked like a razor-edged metal disk.

"It's a chakram," said Jace, looking up as Clary came into the room. "A Sikh weapon. You whirl it around your index finger before releasing it. They're rare and hard to use. Strange that Luke would have one. They used to be Hodge's weapon of choice, back in the day. Or so he tells me."

"Luke collects stuff. Art objects. You know," Clary said, indicating the shelf behind the desk, which was lined with bronze Indian and Russian idols. Her favorite was a statuette of the Indian goddess of destruction, Kali, brandishing a sword and a severed head as she danced with her head thrown back and her eyes slitted closed. To the side of the desk was an antique Chinese screen, carved out of glowing rosewood. "Pretty things."

Jace moved the chakram aside gingerly. A handful of clothes spilled out of the untied end of Luke's duffel bag, as if they had been an afterthought. "I think this is yours, by the way."

He drew out a rectangular object hidden among the clothes: a wooden-framed photograph with a long vertical crack along the glass. The crack threw a network of spidery lines across the smiling faces of Clary, Luke, and her mother. "That is mine," Clary said, taking it out of his hand.

"It's cracked," Jace observed.

"I know. I did that—I smashed it. When I was fighting the Ravener demon." She looked at him, seeing the dawning realization on his face. "That means Luke's been back to the apartment since the attack. Maybe even today—"

"He must have been the last person to come through the Portal," said Jace. "That's why it took us here. You weren't thinking of anything, so it sent us to the last place it had been."

"Nice of Dorothea to tell us he was there," said Clary.

"He probably paid her off to be quiet. Either that or she trusts him more than she trusts us. Which means he might not be—"

He suddenly cut himself off. Clary was about to ask what happened when she heard footsteps. They both hid themselves as they waited for the person to show himself.

* * *

 **CLIFFHANGER...**

 **Of course you guys probably already know what's gonna happen next. My plot is finally coming to play. I hope you guys are enjoying so far. R &R**


	12. Murderers and Traitors

Jace POV

Clary and I moved to hide ourselves. "Someone's coming."

Clary dropped the photo. "Is it Luke?"

"I'm not sure just a sec-" I was cut of by Clary moving to peer through the door in the room we were hiding in.

"What do you think you're doing!" I hissed. "They might see you."

"Calm down. It's Luke alright, but there are 2 men with him." Clary stated from across the room.

"Men?" I crossed the room in a few strides, peered through the door, and spat a curse under my breath. "Warlocks." _Those men. How I would love to go kill them right now. Filthy murderers. But, I have to keep Clary safe for now._

Clary stared. "Warlocks? But—"

Shaking my head, I backed away from the door. "Is there some other way out of here? A back door?" _We should probably get out of here. The sooner the better._

Clary shook her head. The sound of footsteps in the hallway was audible now, striking pangs of fear into her chest.

I looked around desperately. My eyes came to rest on the rosewood screen. "Get behind that," I said, pointing. "Now."

Clary dropped the fractured photo on the desk and slipped behind the screen. I was right behind her, my stele in my hand. I had barely concealed myself when we heard the door swing wide open, the sound of people walking into Luke's office—then voices. Three men speaking. She looked nervously at me, while I had raised the stele in my hand and was moving the tip lightly, in a rune. As Clary stared, the square went clear, like a pane of glass. I mouth the words: They can't see us through it, but we can see them.

Clary POV

Biting my lip, I moved to the edge of the square and peered through it. I could see the room beyond perfectly: the bookshelves, the desk with the duffel bag thrown across it—and Luke, ragged-looking and slightly stooped, his glasses pushed up to the top of his head, standing near the door. It was frightening even though I knew he couldn't see us, that the window Jace had made was like the glass in a police station interrogation room: strictly one-way.

Luke turned, looking back through the doorway. "Yes, feel free to look around," he said, his tone heavily weighted with sarcasm. "Nice of you to show such an interest."

A low chuckle sounded from the corner of the office. With an impatient flick of the wrist, Jace tapped the frame of his "window," and it opened out wider, showing more of the room. There were two men there with Luke, both in long reddish robes, their hoods pushed back. One was thin, with an elegant gray mustache and pointed beard. When he smiled, he showed blindingly white teeth. The other was burly, thickset as a wrestler, with close-cropped reddish hair. His skin was dark purple and looked shiny over the cheekbones, as if it had been stretched too tight.

"Those are warlocks?" Clary whispered softly.

Jace didn't answer. He had gone rigid all over, stiff as a bar of iron. _Is he afraid that I'll make a run for it? No. There's something about these men. He's seen them before. A memory best left buried yet brought back_. _There was something about those two men, in their thick cloaks the color of arterial blood, that was creepy and unnerving._

"Consider this a friendly follow-up, Graymark," said the man with the gray mustache. His smile showed teeth so sharp they looked as if they'd been filed to cannibal points.

"There's nothing friendly about you, Pangborn." Luke sat down on the edge of his desk, angling his body so it blocked the men's view of his duffel bag and its contents. Now that he was closer, I could see that his face and hands were badly bruised, his fingers scraped and bloody. A long cut along his neck disappeared down into his collar. What on earth happened to him?

"Blackwell, don't touch that—it's valuable," Luke said sternly.

The big redheaded man, who had picked up the statue of Kali from the top of the bookcase, ran his beefy fingers over it consideringly. "Nice," he said.

"Ah," said Pangborn, taking the statue from his companion. "She who was created to battle a demon who could not be killed by any god or man. 'Oh, Kali, my mother full of bliss! Enchantress of the almighty Shiva, in thy delirious joy thou dancest, clapping thy hands together. Thou art the Mover of all that moves, and we are but thy helpless toys.'"

"Very nice," said Luke. "I didn't know you were a student of the Indian myths."

"All the myths are true," said Pangborn, and I felt a small shiver go up my spine. "Or have you forgotten even that?" _Well, no argument there. Not from one who's met the Greek Gods._

"I forget nothing," said Luke. Though he looked relaxed, I could see tension in the lines of his shoulders and mouth. "I suppose Valentine sent you?" _There it is again that name. Just who is Valentine?_

"He did," said Pangborn. "He thought you might have changed your mind."

"There's nothing to change my mind about. I already told you I don't know anything. Nice cloaks, by the way."

"Thanks," said Blackwell with a sly grin. "Skinned them off a couple of dead warlocks."

"Those are official Accord robes, aren't they?" Luke asked. "Are they from the Uprising?"

Pangborn chuckled softly. "Spoils of battle."

"Aren't you afraid someone might mistake you for the real thing?"

"Not," said Blackwell, "once they got up close."

Pangborn fondled the edge of his robe. "Do you remember the Uprising, Lucian?" he said softly. "That was a great and terrible day. Do you remember how we trained together for the battle?"

Luke's face twisted. "The past is the past. I don't know what to tell you gentlemen. I can't help you now. I don't know anything."

"'Anything' is such a general word, so unspecific," said Pangborn, sounding melancholy. "Surely someone who owns so many books must know something."

"If you want to know where to find a jog-toed swallow in springtime, I could direct you to the correct reference title. But if you want to know where the Mortal Cup has disappeared to ..."

"'Disappeared' might not be quite the correct word," purred Pangborn. "Hidden, more like. Hidden by Jocelyn." _What does my mother have to do with any of this?_

"That may be," said Luke. "So hasn't she told you where it is yet?"

"She has not yet regained consciousness," said Pangborn, carving the air with a long-fingered hand. "Valentine is disappointed. He was looking forward to their reunion."

"I'm sure she didn't reciprocate the sentiment," muttered Luke.

Pangborn cackled. "Jealous, Graymark? Perhaps you no longer feel about her the way you used to."

A trembling had started in Clary's fingers, so pronounced that she knitted her hands together tightly to try to stop them from shaking.

"I never felt any way about her, particularly," said Luke. "Two Shadowhunters, exiled from their own kind, you can see why we might have banded together. But I'm not going to try to interfere with Valentine's plans for her, if that's what he's worried about."

"I wouldn't say he was worried," said Pangborn. "More curious. We all wondered if you were still alive. Still recognizably human."

Luke arched his eyebrows. "And?"

"You seem well enough," said Pangborn grudgingly. He set the Kali statuette down on the shelf. "There was a child, wasn't there? A girl."

Luke looked taken aback. "What?"

"Don't play dumb," said Blackwell in his snarl of a voice. "We know the bitch had a daughter. They found photos of her in the apartment, a bedroom—"

"I thought you were asking about children of mine," Luke interrupted smoothly. "Yes, Jocelyn had a daughter. Clarissa. I assume she's run off. Did Valentine send you to find her?"

"Not us," said Pangborn. "But he is looking."

"We could search this place," added Blackwell.

"I wouldn't advise it," said Luke, and slid off the desk. There was a certain cold menace to his look as he stared down at the two men, though his expression hadn't changed. "What makes you think she's still alive? I thought Valentine sent Raveners to scour the place. Enough Ravener poison, and most people will crumble away to ashes, leave no trace behind."

"There was a dead Ravener," said Pangborn. "It made Valentine suspicious."

"Everything makes Valentine suspicious," said Luke. "Maybe Jocelyn killed it. She was certainly capable."

Blackwell grunted. "Maybe."

Luke shrugged. "Look, I've got no idea where the girl is, but for what it's worth, I'd guess she's dead. She'd have turned up by now otherwise. Anyway, she's not much of a danger. She's fifteen years old, she's never heard of Valentine, and she doesn't believe in demons." _Not much of a danger? Oh please! At least he didn't sell me out._

Pangborn chuckled. "A fortunate child."

"Not anymore," said Luke.

Blackwell raised his eyebrows. "You sound angry, Lucian."

"I'm not angry, I'm exasperated. I'm not planning on interfering with Valentine's plans, do you understand that? I'm not a fool." _What's that suppose to mean?_

"Really?" said Blackwell. "It's nice to see that you've developed a healthy respect for your own skin over the years, Lucian. You weren't always so pragmatic."

"You do know," said Pangborn, his tone conversational, "that we'd trade her, Jocelyn, for the Cup? Safely delivered, right to your door. That's a promise from Valentine himself."

"I know," said Luke. "I'm not interested. I don't know where your precious Cup is, and I don't want to get involved in your politics. I hate Valentine," he added, "but I respect him. I know he'll mow down everyone in his path. I intend to be out of his way when it happens. He's a monster—a killing machine."

"Look who's talking," snarled Blackwell.

"I take it these are your preparations for removing yourself from Valentine's path?" said Pangborn, pointing a long finger at the half-concealed duffel bag on the desk. "Getting out of town, Lucian?"

Luke nodded slowly. "Going to the country. I plan to lie low for a while."

"We could stop you," said Blackwell. "Make you stay."

Luke smiled. It transformed his face. Suddenly he was no longer the kind, scholarly man who'd pushed me on the swings at the park and taught me how to ride a tricycle. Suddenly there was something feral behind his eyes, something vicious and cold. "You could try." _This is a completely different man._

Pangborn glanced at Blackwell, who shook his head once, slowly. Pangborn turned back to Luke. "You'll notify us if you experience any sudden memory resurgence?"

Luke was still smiling. "You'll be first on my list to call."

Pangborn nodded shortly. "I suppose we'll take our leave. The Angel guard you, Lucian."

"The Angel does not guard those like me," said Luke. He picked the duffel bag up off the desk and knotted the top. "On your way, gentlemen?"

Lifting their hoods to cover their faces again, the two men left the room, followed a moment later by Luke. He paused at the door, glancing around as if he wondered if he'd forgotten something. Then he shut it carefully behind him.

I stayed where I was, frozen, hearing the front door swing shut and the distant jingle of chain and keys as Luke refastened the padlock. I kept seeing the look on Luke's face, over and over, as he said he wasn't interested in what happened to my mother. _Maybe he's doing it to help us? It's not like he has to fight the battle to do so, I mean he didn't let them know I contacted him. That has to count for something, right?_

I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Clary?" It was Jace. His voice was hesitant and careful yet somewhat cold at the same time.

"Y-yeah." I let out a shaky breath. "Yeah. I'm fine." _Gods, please don't Luke be another traitor. I can't handle any more heartbreak._

"Of course you aren't." His voice now sharp and cold as ice shards. He took hold of the screen and moved it aside sharply. "At least now we know who would send a demon after your mother. Those men think she has the Mortal Cup."

I felt my lips thin into a straight line. "That's totally ridiculous and impossible."

"Maybe," said Jace, leaning against Luke's desk. He fixed her with eyes as opaque as smoked glass. "Have you ever seen those men before?"

"No." She shook her head. "Never."

"Lucian seemed to know them. To be friendly with them."

"I wouldn't say friendly," said i. "I'd say they were suppressing their hostility."

"They didn't kill him outright," said Jace. "They think he knows more than he's telling."

"Maybe," said I, "or maybe they're just reluctant to kill another Shadowhunter."

Jace laughed, a harsh, almost vicious noise that raised the hairs up on Clary's arms. "I doubt that."

I looked at him hard. "What makes you so sure? Do you know them?"

The laughter had gone from his voice entirely when he replied. "Do I know them?" he echoed. "You might say that. Those are the men who murdered my father."

* * *

 **I would like to do a small shout out and thank everyone who has been reading, liking, voting, etc. I am super happy and thankful to all you wonderful people out there.**


	13. Family!

Clary stepped forward to touch Jace's arm, say something, anything—what did you say to someone who'd just seen his father's killers? Even demigods didn't come across things like this often. Her hesitation turned out not to matter; Jace shrugged her touch off as if it stung. "We should go," he said, stalking out of the office and into the living room. Clary hurried after him. "We don't know when Luke might come back."

They left through the back entrance, Jace using his stele to lock up behind them, and made their way out onto the silent street. The moon hung like a locket over the city, casting pearly reflections on the water of the East River. The distant hum of cars going by over the Williamsburg Bridge filled the humid air with a sound like beating wings.

Clary shot Jace a sideways look. She knew the consequences of keeping your emotions locked up inside you. She was still watching Jace as they turned onto Kent Avenue.

She turned away from him and began planning her next move. Clary knew staying with these people meant her secret was in danger,but there worlds were already intertwined at this point. Even if she left, there was no doubt, they'd run into each other at some point. Just as Clary was reaching a decision, the couple reached the institute steps.

Jace reached into the neck of his shirt and pulled out a brass key on the end of a chain. It looked like the sort of key one might use to open an old chest in an attic. Clary watched him curiously—he hadn't locked the door behind him when they'd left the Institute before, just let it slam shut. "We find it useful to inhabit hallowed ground."

Clary let her mind relax. She imagined herself taking one of her mother's turpentine rags and dabbing at the view in front of her, cleaning away the glamour as if it were old paint.

There it was: the true vision, glowing through the false one like light through dark glass. She saw the soaring spires of the cathedral, the dull gleam of the leaded windows, the brass plate fixed to the stone wall beside the door, the Institute's name etched into it. She held the vision for a moment before letting it go almost with a sigh.

Clary thought longingly of camp as they made their way up a winding set of stone stairs, each one carved with a glyph. She was beginning to recognize some of them—they tantalized her sight the way half-heard words in a foreign language sometimes tantalized her hearing, as if by just concentrating harder she could force some meaning out of them. Almost like ancient-greek when she first found out about demigods.

Clary and Jace reached the elevator and rode up in silence. She was still thinking of camp when her thoughts travelled to Simon and Percy. Had they made it to camp yet? She started thinking about random things as her ADHD took control.

The elevator came to a hissing stop, and they were again in the entryway Clary remembered. Jace shrugged off his jacket, threw it over the back of a nearby chair, and whistled through his teeth. In a few seconds Church appeared, slinking low to the ground, his yellow eyes gleaming in the dusty air. "Church," Jace said, kneeling down to stroke the cat's gray head. "Where's Alec, Church? Where's Hodge?"

Church arched his back and meowed. Jace crinkled his nose, which Clary might have found cute in other circumstances. "Are they in the library?" He stood up, and Church shook himself, trotted a little way down the corridor, and glanced back over his shoulder. Jace followed the cat as if this were the most natural thing in the world, indicating with a wave of his hand that was to fall into step behind him.

Clary and Jace walked in silence down the halls and corridors. Clary fiddling with her bracelet and analyzing every possible escape route or corridor.

They turned through a doorway and found themselves inside a kitchen. It was an enormous kitchen, and unlike the rest of the Institute, it was all modern, with steel counters and glassed-in shelves holding rows of crockery. Next to a red cast-iron stove stood Isabelle, a round spoon in her hand, her dark hair pinned up on top of her head. Steam was rising from the pot, and ingredients were strewn everywhere—tomatoes, chopped garlic and onions, strings of dark-looking herbs, grated piles of cheese, some shelled peanuts, a handful of olives, and a whole fish, its eye staring glassily upward.

"I'm making soup," Isabelle said, waving a spoon at Jace. "Are you hungry? Oh, and by the way Clary, Hodge and Jon want to talk to you" She said when her eyes landed on her. "He was quit worried when you left with Jace." Dropping some food on the floor. Church fell on it ravenously.

"No wonder he brought us here," said Jace disgustedly. "I can't believe you've been stuffing him with fish again. He's looking distinctly podgy."

"He does not look podgy. Besides, none of the rest of you ever eat anything. I got this recipe from a water sprite at the Chelsea Market. He said it was delicious—"

"If you knew how to cook, maybe I would eat," Jace muttered.

Isabelle froze, her spoon poised dangerously. "What did you say?"

Jace edged toward the fridge. "I said I'm going to look for a snack to eat."

"Oh yes, 'cause food is definitely the most important thing at the moment."Clary said sarcasticly

"Exactly" he nodded in agreement. The inside of the fridge was filled with milk cartons whose expiration dates reached back several weeks, and plastic Tupperware containers labeled with masking tape lettered in red ink: HODGE'S. DO NOT EAT.

"Just like the boys," Clary muttered under her breath.

Jace took one of the containers out of the fridge and opened it. "Hmm. Spaghetti."

"Don't ruin your appetite," Isabelle called.

"That," said Jace, kicking the fridge door shut and seizing a fork from a drawer, "is exactly what I intend to do." He looked at Clary. "Want some?"

She shook her head.

"Of course not," he said around a mouthful, "you ate all those sandwiches."

"It wasn't that many sandwiches. Can we go find Hodge now?"

"You seem awfully eager to get out of here."

"Don't you want to tell him what we saw?"

"I haven't decided yet." Jace set the container down and thoughtfully licked spaghetti sauce off his knuckle. "But if you want to go so badly—"

"I do."

"Fine."

He seemed awfully calm, she thought, not scary-calm as he had been before, but more contained than he ought to be. She wondered how often he let glimpses of his real self peek through the facade that was as hard and shiny as the coat of lacquer on one of her mother's Japanese boxes.

"Where are you going?" Isabelle asked as they reached the door.

"To find Hodge," she said. "I need to tell him about what happened at Luke's."

Isabelle finally looked up. "Are you going to tell him that you saw those men, Jace? The ones that—"

"I don't know." He cut her off. "So keep it to yourself for now."

She shrugged. "All right. Are you going to come back? Do you want any soup?"

"No," said Jace.

"Do you think Hodge will want any soup?"

"No one wants any soup."  
"ENOUGH! Are we going to see Hodge and Jonathon or not!"

"Fine. Let's go." The kitchen door swung shut behind him, leaving Clary alone Isabelle

"Ah, bye." She walked out of the kitchen, Church slinking at her feet like a cloudy gray shadow.

In the hallway Jace was twirling one of the seraph blades between his fingers. He pocketed it when he saw her. "Kind of you to finally join me."

Clary frowned at him. "Why are you always such an asshat?"

"An asshat?" Jace looked as if he were about to laugh.

"Yes, you're always so rude and sarcastic. You tend to push people away like it's you're character. A very common defence mechanism for people like you put also the most destructive one. I'm wondering why though." Clary stated with a look in her eye.

Jace twisted away from her and grabbed Church. "Hodge," he said. "And really Hodge this time. Bring us anywhere else, and I'll make you into a tennis racket."

The Persian snorted and slunk down the hall ahead of them. Clary, trailing a little behind Jace, could see the stress and tiredness in the line of Jace's shoulders. She wondered if the tension ever really left him. "Jace."

He looked at her. "What?"

"I'm sorry. For snapping at you."

He chuckled. "Which time?"

"You snap at me, too, you know."

"I know," he said, surprising her. "There's something about you that's so—"

"Irritating?"

"Unsettling."

She immediately stiffened, worrying about her identity. She quickly changed the topic, "Does Isabelle always make dinner for you?" she asked.

"No, thank God. Most of the time the Lightwoods are here and Maryse—that's Isabelle's mother—she cooks for us. She's an amazing cook." He looked dreamy.

"Then how come she never taught Isabelle?" They were passing through the music room now, where she'd found Jace playing the piano that morning. Shadows had gathered thickly in the corners.

"Because," Jace said slowly, "it's only been recently that women have been Shadowhunters along with men. I mean, there have always been women in the Clave—mastering the runes, creating weaponry, teaching the Killing Arts—but only a few were warriors, ones with exceptional abilities. They had to fight to be trained. Maryse was a part of the first generation of Clave women who were trained as a matter of course—and I think she never taught Isabelle how to cook because she was afraid that if she did, Isabelle would be relegated to the kitchen permanently."

"Would she have been?" Clary asked curiously. She thought of Isabelle in Pandemonium, how confident she'd been and how assuredly she'd used her blood-spattering whip.

Jace laughed softly. "Not Isabelle. She's one of the best Shadowhunters I've ever known."

"Better than Alec?"

Church, streaking soundlessly ahead of them through the gloom, came to a sudden halt and meowed. He was crouched at the foot of a metal spiral staircase that spun up into a hazy half-light overhead. "So he's in the greenhouse," Jace said. It took Clary a moment before she realized he was speaking to the cat. "No surprise there."

"The greenhouse?" Clary said.

Jace swung himself onto the first step. "Hodge likes it up there. He grows medicinal plants, things we can use. Most of them only grow in Idris. I think it reminds him of home."

Clary followed him. Her shoes clattered on the metal steps; Jace's didn't. "Is he better than Isabelle?" she asked again. "Alec, I mean."

He paused and looked down at her, leaning down from the steps as if he were poised to fall. She remembered her dream: angels, falling and burning. "Better?" he said. "At demon-slaying? No, not really. He's never killed a demon."

"Really?"

"I don't know why not. Maybe because he's always protecting Izzy and me." They had reached the top of the stairs. A set of double doors greeted them, carved with patterns of leaves and vines. Jace shouldered them open.

The smell struck Clary the moment she passed through the doors: a green, sharp smell, the smell of living and growing things, of dirt and the roots that grew in dirt. She had been expecting something much smaller, something the size of the little greenhouse out behind St. Xavier's, where the AP biology students cloned pea pods, or whatever it was they did. This was a huge glass-walled enclosure, lined with trees whose thickly leaved branches breathed out cool green-scented air. There were bushes hung with glossy berries, red and purple and black, and small trees hung with oddly shaped fruits she'd never seen before.

Clary exhaled. "It smells like ..." Springtime, she thought, before the heat comes and crushes the leaves into pulp and withers the petals off the flowers. Katy would love this. (Did I spell her name right, my memories a bit jammed)

"Home," said Jace, "to me." He pushed aside a hanging frond and ducked past it. Clary followed.

The greenhouse was laid out in what seemed to Clary's eyes just took it all in. She didn't think she'd she anything so beautiful outside of camp. They emerged into a cleared space where a low granite bench rested against the bole of a drooping tree with silvery-green leaves. Water glimmered in a stone-bound rock pool. Hodge sat on the bench, his black bird perched on his shoulder. He had been staring thoughtfully down at the water, but looked skyward at their approach. Clary followed his gaze upward and saw the glass roof of the greenhouse shining above them like the surface of an inverted lake.

"You look like you're waiting for something," Jace observed, breaking a leaf off a nearby bough and twirling it between his fingers. For someone who seemed so contained, he had a lot of nervous habits. Perhaps he just liked to be constantly in motion.

"I was lost in thought." Hodge rose from the bench, stretching out his arm for Hugo. The smile faded from his face as he looked at them. "What happened? You look as if—"

"We were attacked," Jace said shortly. "Forsaken."

"Forsaken warriors? Here?"

"Warrior," said Jace. "We only saw one."

"But Dorothea said there were more," Clary added.

"Dorothea?" Hodge held a hand up. "This might be easier if you took events in order."

"Right." Jace gave Clary a warning look, cutting her off before she could start talking.

"Just a sec Jace. Jon, come they're here. come join us." Hodge hollered.

"Coming" A voice replied. A few seconds later. Jon appeared from behind a few bushes. "He glared in Jace's direction before stating in a warning tone "You and I are having a little chat later."

Jace just shrugged it off. Then he launched into a recital of the afternoon's events, leaving out only one detail—that the men in Luke's apartment had been the same men who'd killed his father seven years ago. "Clary's mother's friend—or whatever he is, really—goes by the name Luke Garroway," Jace finished finally. "But while we were at his house, the two men who claimed they were emissaries of Valentine referred to him as Lucian Graymark."

"And their names were ..."

"Pangborn," said Jace. "And Blackwell."

Hodge had gone very pale. Against his gray skin the scar along his cheek stood out like a twist of red wire. "It is as I feared," he said, half to himself. "The Circle is rising again."

Clary looked at Jace for clarification, but he seemed as puzzled as she was. "The Circle?" he said.

"Bad news." Jon said darkly.

Hodge was shaking his head as if trying to clear cobwebs from his brain. "Come with me," he said. "It's time I showed you something."

The gas lamps were lit in the library, and the polished oak surfaces of the furniture seemed to smolder like somber jewels. Streaked with shadows, the stark faces of the angels holding up the enormous desk looked even more suffused with pain. Clary sat on the red sofa, legs drawn up, Jace leaning restlessly against the sofa arm beside her. "Hodge, if you need help looking—"

"Not at all." Hodge emerged from behind the desk, brushing dust from the knees of his trousers. "I've found it."

He was carrying a large book bound in brown leather. He paged through it with an anxious finger, blinking owl-like behind his glasses and muttering: "Where ... where ... ah, here it is!" He cleared his throat before he read aloud: "'I hereby render unconditional obedience to the Circle and its principles ... I will be ready to risk my life at any time for the Circle, in order to preserve the purity of the bloodlines of Idris, and for the mortal world with whose safety we are charged.'"

Jace made a face. "What was that from?"

"It was the loyalty oath of the Circle of Raziel, twenty years ago," said Hodge, sounding strangely tired.

"It sounds creepy," said Clary. "Like a fascist organization or something."

Hodge set the book down. He looked as pained and grave as the statuary angels beneath the desk. "They were a group," he said slowly, "of Shadowhunters, led by Valentine, dedicated to wiping out all Downworlders and returning the world to a 'purer' state. Their plan was to wait for the Downworlders to arrive in Idris to sign the Accords. They must be signed again each fifteen years, to keep their magic potent," he added, for Clary's benefit. "Then, they planned to slaughter them all, unarmed and defenseless. This terrible act, they thought, would spark off a war between humans and Downworlders—one they intended to win."

"That was the Uprising," said Jace, finally recognizing in Hodge's story one that was already familiar to him. "I didn't know Valentine and his followers had a name."

"The name isn't spoken often nowadays," said Hodge. "Their existence remains an embarrassment to the Clave. Most documents pertaining to them have been destroyed."

"Then why do you have a copy of that oath?" Jace asked.

Hodge hesitated—only for a moment, but Clary saw it, and felt a small and inexplicable shiver of apprehension run up her spine. "Because," he said, finally, "I helped write it."

Jace looked up at that. "You were in the Circle."

"I was. Many of us were." Hodge was looking straight ahead. "Clary's mother as well."

Clary jerked back as if he'd slapped her. "What?"

"I said—"

"I know what you said! My mother would never have belonged to something like that. Some kind of—some kind of hate group."

"It wasn't—" Jace began, but Hodge cut him off.

"I doubt," he said slowly, as if the words pained him, "that she had much choice."

Clary stared. "What are you talking about? Why wouldn't she have had a choice?"

"Because," said Hodge, "she was Valentine's wife."

"Which means you're my sister, Clary." Jonathon added, finally saying something.

II

EASY IS THE DESCENT

Facilis descensus Averno:

Noctes atque dies patet atri ianua Ditis;

Sed revocare gradum superasque evadere ad auras,

Hoc opus, hic labor est.

—Virgil, The Aeneid

* * *

 **Hey guys! Sorry about the wait.**

 **Well the plot just thickened, a bomb dropped on Clary, And she's planning something of her own. With the merging of the 2 worlds what will happen? Will destruction fall upon the young heroes or will they yet again do the impossible? Stay tuned to find out.**


	14. Going Home

Jon POV

There was a moment of astonished silence before both Clary and Jace began speaking at once.

"Valentine had a second child but I thought -"

"That's impossible! My mother would never—she was only ever with my father, she never had another lover!" _Strange choice of words._

Hodge raised his hands wearily. "Children—"

"I'm not a child." Clary spun away from the desk. "And I don't want to hear any more."

"Clary," I spoke before Hodge could. "We're telling the truth. I know it's gonna be a bit hard but it is true. Don't worry we'll help you figure this out. I'll  help you figure this out" Moving towards Clary.

"Your mother was a good person though. She left the Circle," said Hodge. He didn't move toward her like me but watched her across the room with a bird's bright-eyed stillness. "Once we realized how extreme Valentine's views had become—once we knew what he was prepared to do—many of us left. Lucian was the first to leave. That was a blow to Valentine. They had been very close." Hodge shook his head. "Then Michael Wayland. Your father, Jace."

Jace raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"There were those who stayed loyal. Pangborn. Blackwell. The Lightwoods—"

"The Lightwoods? You mean Robert and Maryse?" Jace looked thunderstruck. "What about you? When did you leave?"

"I didn't," said Hodge softly. "Neither did they ... We were afraid, too afraid of what he might do. After the Uprising the loyalists like Blackwell and Pangborn fled. We stayed and cooperated with the Clave. Gave them names. Helped them track down the ones who had run away. For that we received clemency."

"Clemency?" Jace's look was quick, but Hodge saw it.

He said, "You are thinking of the curse that binds me here, aren't you? You always assumed it was a vengeance spell cast by an angry demon or warlock. I let you think it. But it is not the truth. The curse that binds me was cast by the Clave."

"For being in the Circle?" Jace asked, his face a mask of astonishment.

"For not leaving it before the Uprising."

I rapped my arms around Clary and semi-listened. She leaned in unconsciously her eyes distant. I could practically see the gears in her head moving. Her hands fumbling with her bracelet.

"But the Lightwoods weren't punished," Clary said. "Why not? They'd done the same thing you'd done."

"There were extenuating circumstances in their case—they were married; they had a child. Although it is not as if they reside in this outpost, far from home, by their own choice. We were banished here, the three of us—the four of us, I should say; Alec was a squalling baby when we left the Glass City. They can return to Idris on official business only, and then only for short times. I can never return. I will never see the Glass City again."

I turned to stare at Hodge along with Jace. It was as if we were looking at our tutor with new eye.I said, "'The Law is hard, but it is the Law.'"

"I taught you that," said Hodge, dry amusement in his voice. "And now you turn my lessons back at me. Rightly too." He looked as if he wanted to sink down into a nearby chair, but held himself upright nevertheless. In his rigid posture there was something of the soldier he had once been.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" she said. "That my mother was married to Valentine. You knew her name—"

"We knew her as Jocelyn Fairchild, not Jocelyn Fray," I explained. "And you were so insistent on her ignorance of the Shadow World, you convinced me and Hodge it could not be the Jocelyn we knew—and perhaps I did not want to believe it. I'm not particularly fond of our mother or our father."

"Your father." Clary mumbled.

"Sorry, what was that?" i asked tilting my head towards her.

"Your father." She said clearly. "You may accept this Valentine guy as your daddy. But I din't and I would appreciate if you kept that in mind." _She's got more spirit than I originally gave her credit for. Wait a minute does this mean she doesn't think I'm her brother too._

Hodge shook his head drawing the attention back to him. "When I sent for the Brothers of the Bone City this morning, I had no idea just what news we would have for them," he said. "When the Clave finds out Valentine may have returned, that he is seeking the Cup, there will be an uproar. I can only hope it does not disrupt the Accords."

"I bet Valentine would like that," Jace said. "But why does he want the Cup so badly?"

Hodge's face was gray. "Isn't that obvious?" he said. "So he can build himself an army." _Cursed bastard!_

Jace looked startled. "But that would never—"

"Dinnertime!" It was Isabelle, standing framed in the door of the library. She still had the spoon in her hand, though her hair had escaped from its bun and was straggling down her neck. "Sorry if I'm interrupting," she added, as an afterthought.

"Dear God," said Jace, "the dread hour is nigh." _Did she just say DINNER!_ Warning bells ringing through the boy's heads.

Hodge looked alarmed. "I—I—I had a very filling breakfast," he stammered. "I mean lunch. A filling lunch. I couldn't possibly eat—"

I did my absolute best to make myself invisible .

"I threw out the soup," Isabelle said. "And ordered Chinese from that place downtown."

Jace unhitched himself from the desk and stretched. "Great. I'm starved."

"I might be able to eat a bite," admitted Hodge meekly. I just let out a sign of relief and straightened up.

"You two are terrible liars and don't think I didn't see you Jon," said Isabelle darkly. "Look, I know you don't like my cooking—"

"So stop doing it," Jace advised her reasonably. "Did you order mu shu pork? You know I love mu shu pork."

Isabelle cast her eyes skyward. "Yes. It's in the kitchen."

"Awesome." Jace ducked by her with an affectionate ruffle of her hair. Hodge went after him, pausing only to pat Isabelle on the shoulder—then he was gone, with a funny apologetic duck of the head. Had Clary really only a few minutes before been able to see the ghost in him of his old warrior self?

Isabelle was looking after Jace and Hodge, twisting the spoon in her scarred, pale fingers. I caste a sideway glance towards Clary pushing "Did you order any of those noodles I love?"

Isabelle just gave a dramatic sigh, nodded and left.

"Is it true?" Clary wondered out loud.

"Is what true?"

"Is Jace a terrible liar?"

"He's not a liar at all. Not about important things. He'll tell you horrible truths, but he won't lie." I paused before adding quietly, "That's why it's generally better not to ask him anything unless you know you can stand to hear the answer."

I scratched the back of my neck and thought of a way to break the silence when my sister beat me to it.

"Jon, I might not think of Valentine as my father but that doesn't mean you can't be my brother."

"What!" My eyes widened as I stared at her. My worry dissapearing.

"Well yeah. I mean Valentine's a bastard and I have another father figure in my life - more like two - so I don't acknowledge him as my dad. But you can never have too many siblings and you are the only one I feel ... familiar around. So why not?"

"Well I all up for. I'd like to have some family member I can love" I asnwered.

"About that, why do you hate mother anyway?" She questioned.

"I'll tell you another day, come on let's go eat, " I moved toward the door before adding, "sis."

Clary POV

The kitchen was warm and full of light and the salt-sweet smell of takeout Chinese food. I sat and looked at my glistening plate of noodles, toyed with her fork.

"Well, I think it's kind of romantic," said Isabelle, sucking tapioca pearls through an enormous pink straw.

"What is?" asked Jon, looking up from his own noodles.

"That whole business about Clary's mother being married to Valentine," said Isabelle. Jace and Hodge had filled her in, though I noted that both had left out the part about the Lightwoods having been in the Circle, and the curses the Clave had handed down. "So now he's back from the dead and he's come looking for her. Maybe he wants to get back together."

"I kind of doubt he sent a Ravener demon to her house because he wants to 'get back together,'" said Alec, who had turned up when the food was served. Nobody had asked him where he'd been, and he hadn't offered the information. He was sitting next to Jace, across from me, and was avoiding looking at me.

"It wouldn't be my move," Jace agreed. "First the candy and flowers, then the apology letters, then the ravenous demon hordes. In that order."

"He might have sent her candy and flowers," Isabelle said. "We don't know."

"Isabelle," said Hodge patiently, "this is the man who rained down destruction on Idris the like of which it had never seen, who set Shadowhunter against Downworlder and made the streets of the Glass City run with blood."

"That's sort of hot," Isabelle argued, "that evil thing."

"Yes, cause when you're looking for love you think of crazy, heartless, murderers. Definitely every girls' dream." I reply sarcastically.

Jace gave a light chuckle and Jon and Alec had a slight smile tugging on their lips. Isabelle shot a glare at me.

"Okay so Valentine wants an arm. He just goes around kidnapping people and forcing them to drink it?" Jon asked.

"The Cup works best on kids. Not to mention only a few humans are selected to be turned into Nephilim because most would never survive the transition. It takes special strength and resilience." Alec cut in.

"An army of children." Isabelle thought aloud, "I don't see how it could work."

"They won't be so small for long, children grow up fast." Jace said.

"You shouldn't underestimate a group of well trained kids Isabelle. I know a 7 year old who broke a 17 year old's arm." I said thinking about a younger Aries kid.

They all started at me with wide eyes. "What? It's true. Maybe I'll introduce you some day."

"Please do, I would be most interested in meeting this kid." Jace said.

"Anyway," Hodge said dryly, "Before they can be turned, they must be extensively tested—but Valentine would never bother with that. He would use the Cup on any child he could capture, and cull out the twenty percent who survived to be his army."

Alec was looking at Hodge with the same horror I felt. "How do you know he'd do that?"

"Because," Hodge said, "when he was in the Circle, that was his plan. He said it was the only way to build the kind of force that was needed to defend our world."

"But that's murder," said Isabelle, who looked a little green. "He was talking about killing children."

"He said that we had made the world safe for humans for a thousand years," said Hodge, "and now was their time to repay us with their own sacrifice."

"Their children?" demanded Jace, his cheeks flushed. "That goes against everything we're supposed to be about. Protecting the helpless, safeguarding humanity—"

Hodge pushed his plate away. "Valentine was insane," he said. "Brilliant, but insane. He cared about nothing but killing demons and Downworlders. Nothing but making the world pure. He would have sacrificed his own son for the cause and could not understand how anyone else would not." He shot a glance at Jon.

"It's true. He's one sick bastard." said Jon.

"Can i tell them about the manor Jon?" said Hodge, reaching for his handkerchief. He used it to mop his forehead before returning it to his pocket. His hand, was trembling slightly.

"I'll tell'em myself" Jon sighed. "My father burned his land, he set fire to the whole house. He was trapped in the flames and I was there with him. can't remember what happened, but I remember a woman crying out and everything burning down. I passed out form lack of oxygen and the next thing I knew, i was waking up to see the Silent Brothers treating my wounds. They said I had to come back every year for a check up. "

" When the manor caught fire, it was presumed that Valentine had died that night."

"Only Valentine?" realisation coming over me , "It's why you hate Jocelyn isn't it. You think she left you to die in the flames." It wasn't a question but a fact.

"Bingo little sis." Jon said sadly "Know you know why I hate her so much."

"And, it seems now, Valentine also survived," said Hodge. "The Clave will want to secure the Cup. And more importantly, they will want to make sure Valentine does not get to it first."

"It seems to me that the first thing we'd better do is find Clary's mother," said Jace. "Find her, find the Cup, get it before Valentine does."

This sounded fine to me, but Hodge looked at Jace as if he'd proposed juggling nitroglycerine as a solution. "Absolutely not." My eyes narrowed.

"Then what do we do?" I questioned.

"Nothing," Hodge said. "All this is best left to skilled, experienced Shadowhunters."

"I am skilled," protested Jace. "I am experienced."

Hodge's tone was firm, nearly parental. "I know that you are, but you're still a child, or nearly one."

Jace looked at Hodge through slitted eyes. His lashes were long, casting shadows down over his angular cheekbones. In someone else it would have been a shy look, even an apologetic one, but on Jace it looked narrow and menacing. "I am not a child."

"Hodge is right," said Alec. He was looking at Jace, and I thought that he must be one of the few people in the world who looked at Jace not as if he were afraid of him, but as if he were afraid for him. "Valentine is dangerous. I know you're a good Shadowhunter. You're probably the best our age. But Valentine's one of the best there ever was. It took a huge battle to bring him down."

"And he didn't exactly stay down," said Isabelle, examining her fork tines. "Apparently."

"But we're here," said Jace. "We're here and because of the Accords, nobody else is. If we don't do something—"

"We are going to do something," said Hodge. "I'll send the Clave a message tonight. They could have a force of Nephilim here by tomorrow if they wanted. They'll take care of this. You have done more than enough."

Jace subsided, but his eyes were still glittering. "I don't like it."

"You don't have to like it," said Alec. "You just have to shut up and not do anything stupid."

"But what about my mother?" Clary demanded. "She can't wait for some representative from the Clave to show up. Valentine has her right now—Pangborn and Blackwell said so—and he could be ..." She couldn't bring herself to say the word "torture," but Clary knew she wasn't the only one thinking it. Suddenly no one at the table could meet her eyes.

"Clary, if I recall currectly, from want you said they said, she could be asleep. Maybe not in any current danger at all. They're still waiting for her to wake up." Jon comforted, or tried to comfort as I glared at him (and my glare can be really scary after all my years at camp).

"I'd stay unconscious if I were her," Isabelle muttered.

"But that could be any time," said Clary, ignoring Isabelle. "I thought the Clave was pledged to protect people. Shouldn't there be Shadowhunters here right now? Shouldn't they already be searching for her?" _This is why demigods are sooo much more reliable._

"That would be easier," snapped Alec, "if we had the slightest idea where to look."

"But we do," said Jace.

"You do?" Clary looked at him, startled and eager. "Where?"

"Here." Jace leaned forward and touched his fingers to the side of her temple, so gently that a flush crept up her face. "Everything we need to know is locked up in your head, under those pretty red curls." _Oh no, no, no, no, no, no. You are not looking through my memories or any of that shit. I am so leaving to camp tonight._

I reached up to touch my hair protectively. "I don't think—"

Jace cut in "The Silent Brothers can help you retrieve your memories." _Called it._

"You hate the Silent Brothers," protested Jon.

"I don't hate them," said Jace candidly. "I'm afraid of them. It's not the same thing."

"I thought you said they were librarians," I said.

"They are librarians."

"The Silent Brothers are archivists, but that is not all they are," interrupted Hodge, sounding as if he were running out of patience. "In order to strengthen their minds, they have chosen to take upon themselves some of the most powerful runes ever created. The power of these runes is so great that the use of them—" He broke off and I heard Isabelle's voice in her head, saying: They mutilate themselves. "Well, it warps and twists their physical forms. They are not warriors in the sense that other Shadowhunters are warriors. Their powers are of the mind, not the body."

"They can read minds?" I said in a small voice.

"Among other things. They are among the most feared of all demon hunters."

"Jace is right," said Isabelle, ignoring Simon. "The Silent Brothers are really creepy."

Hodge's hand was clenched on the table. "They are very powerful," he said. "They walk in darkness and do not speak, but they can crack open a man's mind the way you might crack open a walnut—and leave him screaming alone in the dark if that is what they desire."

I looked at Jace, appalled. "You want to give me to them?"

"I want them to help you." Jace leaned across the table, so close she could see the darker amber flecks in his light eyes. "Maybe we don't get to look for the Cup," he said softly. "Maybe the Clave will do that. But what's in your mind belongs to you. Someone's hidden secrets there, secrets you can't see. Don't you want to know the truth about your own life?"

"I don't want someone else inside my head," she said weakly. She knew he was right, but the idea of turning herself over to beings that even the Shadowhunters thought were creepy sent a chill through her blood.

"I'll go with you," said Jace. "I'll stay with you while they do it."

"That's enough." Jon declared. "While, I am all up for going on a hunt for my dear old mum, you will not force my sister into doing anything she doesn't want to." _Over protective brother mode already? That was fast._

Clary stood up. "I'm tired," she said. "I want to go to sleep."

"You've hardly eaten anything—" Jon protested.

She brushed aside his reaching hand. "I'm not hungry." _A little bit of rest before breaking out of this prison._

Jon lead me to my room for the night. It was lights out before my head even hit the pillow.

 _"Poseidon! What are you doing here?" I heard a voice as I open my eyes._

 _"I'm worried Hestia. Clarissa has fallen into the world of angels and Jocelyn has been kidnapped by one of the nelphilim._

 _My vision cleared and I found myself looking at a scene on Olympus. My father was gazing down at the sea from the Throne room and Hestia was sitting near the hearth as usual._

 _"Yes the poor girl has yet another challenge to face. I wonder when the fates will finally give the heroes a break." Hestia sighed._

 _"I only want them to have a few months of peace but every time something new comes up. The gaint war just ended a few months back and a quest has already come up!" Poseidon thundered (Not his thing I know. That's more of Zues' job.) "I am the god of seas, I can create earthquakes and tsunamis with a mere thought yet I can't keep my kids safe! I hate feeling so, so helpless."_

 _"I know but all we can do is guide them and pray Tyche_ (A/N: that is the goddess of luck right?) _has blessed them._

 _The dream changed and suddenly I was in a small room. I could hear water running nearby._

 _A man with nearly pearl white hair, black eyes, a triangular face and pointed had a sturdy build, thick muscular arms and a little more than 6 feet tall. He stood over a woman with bright red hair. She was clearly asleep. My eyes widened and I let out an inaudible gasp as I looked down at my mother's sleeping figure._

 _The man stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. I tried to move forward and slap his hand away or shout at him but I found myself stuck where I was, unable to move._

 _"Soon Jocelyn. Soon I will find the Mortal Cup. I will get the white book and wake you up. It's with me in my old home. I'll wake you up and we can be reunited my love."_

 _I was shocked. This is him. This is the man who shed so much downworlder blood. This is Valentine_ _Morgenstern._

 _"You can meet Jonathon. He's alive you know. He was alive this entire time. In the New York Institute itself. You probably didn't know that did you. No you would have done something about it if you did." He gazed down at her._

 _"I heard about Clarissa you know. I can't wait to meet my daughter. We'll all be together Jocelyn. I'll make it happen. You will be by my side as I kill all the filthy downworlders." I nearly growled at him. "We will be a family ruling over a new, cleansed world. Mark my worlds, it will happen."_

 _The dream faded as Valentine kissed my mother's forehead and walked out of the room._

I woke up with a start. Beads of sweat running down my face. I look up at the clock and see it's about 5 in the morning. _Perfect no one will be up right now. I can sneak out. By the time I reach camp the harpies won't out either._

I found a pen and some paper writing a quick note to Jon and for some reason Jace. This way they won't come after me or will at least know that I left instead of being kidnapped or something.

I open the door and glance outside making sure that nobody is around. I sneak outside and silently sprint down the halls. I make my way outside the institute. I take one more glance around and race through the still busy street of the big apple. I run away from the institute to camp half-blood. Away from the prison to home.


	15. Camp Half-Blood

Clary POV

I was running to long island. I debated taking a cab but decided against it because camp is nearby and it'll help me stretch my legs. The sun was starting to peak over the horizon but nobody would be up yet. I stopped near the base of half blood hill and looked up at Thalia's pine tree. A small smile tugged on my lips as I inhaled the familiar faint smell of camp half-blood; my home.

I glanced around me. Even though I knew these lands as well as the back of my hand, it was nice to see it with my own eyes. As soon as the giant war was over and all the celebrations were done I immediately went back home cause my mother was worried sick (even with all the excuses and false proof Chiron gave her saying I was on a field trip). Suddenly my eyes caught onto something white and gold in one of the bushes near the few trees here.

I placed a hand over deathraze (A/N: in case you forgot, her sword.) and slowly walked over there. "Who's there? Show yourself!" I bellowed. I heard some light rustling over there and transformed deathraze into sword form. "I'm warning you for the last time, show yourselves or else!"

This time it seemed to work. I held deathraze in front of me in a defensive position and placed my feet firmly on the ground bracing myself for whatever it was in the bushes. After a few second nothing happened. Just as I start to move forward two figures tumbled out of the bushes. My breath caught as i realise who it is. I put away my sword and rush over to the two.

"What the Hades are you two doing here?" I demanded.

"Well we can't just let a hopeless mundane like yourself run off to who knows where with some protection, now can we red." A certain cocky blond asked gazing at me.

"What the hell were you thinking, running of like that? Do you know what could have happened if you were attacked? Do you know how much downworlders and demons enjoy the blood of a one of us." Jon grabbed my shoulders and swung me around to face him.

"Ah, yes i forgot. You're one of us now. All the more reason to keep you close, little red."

I scowl "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself Jace," glaring up at him. "And Jon, I get that you just got a blood relative, but that doesn't mean you need to baby me - "

"RRRROOOOAAARRRRRR"

"What was that?" I turned around to face the source of the sound.

"I'm not sure. Stay behind me Clary." Jon said moving in front of me as Jace went to scout out what it was, seraph blade already out and ready. I too summoned my sword and glanced around. Another few roars shook the trees around us. I was sure that atleast a few members of camp were awake by now.

A hellhound jumped out and tackled Jace to the ground, pinning him under his massive weight. "Jace!"I screamed. Just then another 4 hellhounds leapt out and surrounded us. Jon started slashing at the closest one as I sidestepped away from another beast. I swung my sword in a downward arc successfully separating the head from the rest of the body and disintegrating it. A hellhound jumped onto me, trying to bit my head off. I quickly turned the water vapour in the air into a stick of sorts to keep the hellhound from biting or closing its mouth in general.

A sword runs through the centre of its body and I look up to see Jace hovering above me. I glance around and see Jon finishing of the 4th beast. The fifth beast is also in a pile of golden ichor but above it stands a triumphant Clarrise La Rue.

"Clarrise, It's good to see you again boar face." I exclaim, taking Jace's hand to hoist myself onto my feet.

"You too seafire. But you must be getting rusty if you can't take out a few hellhounds." Laughing as I glare at her.

"These 2 with you Clare?" "You know her Clary?" Clarrise and Jon say at the same time.

"Yes to both those questions. Clarrise, I need to see Chiron immediately can you make sure no one says anything or asks any questions?" I request.

"No prob. I'll even do you a another favour and tell prissy your here."

"Thanks, its appreciated."

"If you two are done we have a lot of questions and would like some answers." Jace interrupts.

"Not here. I'll tell you at the Big House. There is someone there that should be more than capable of answering all your questions and mine too."

"Alright then, lead the way." Jon declares.

AT THE BIG HOUSE

"Chiron." I call out.

"Clarissa, I wasn't expecting to see you back here so soon, my child. Is something the matter." He says entering on the wheelchair with Annabeth behind him.

"Hey Seafire, who are these 2?" Annabeth asks.

"That's exactly why I'm here, these two are from a race of warriors called the nelphim. They followed me here. I hoped I was wrong, but it seems like another 2 worlds are about clash and merge." I explain.

"ah, excuse me, but we were promised answers and we would like them now." Jace interrupts, again!

"How come those demons out there burst into golden dust? What is this place? And what in the name of Raziel is going on here." Jon burst out.

"Take a seat children and I will tell you everything." Chiron replied calmly.

+=+=TIME SKIP=+=+

"Wait so Clarissa is a part of this group of half-god half-mortal warriors that go on quests for the gods." Jon states.

"But, Clarissa wasn't actually suppose to be born because she is the daughter of a god who took a vow to not have children because of a prophecy." Jace continues.

"Poseidon, she is the daughter of Poseidon."Annabeth clarifies.

"And this place is a safe zone for these demigods as you call them."

"Not only that but you also went through 2 wars, the second one joining the roman gods with the greek gods who you follow." Jace finishes.

"That pretty much sums it up nicely. " i said.

" Yes excuse me but could I get some proof about this." Jon said.

"Sure." I say forming an ice dagger out of thin air. " As the daughter of Poseidon, i inherited some of his powers. Including control over water. So I transform the water molecules in the air to for shapes then solidify them into ice." I said twirling it in my fingers. I glance at Jace and decided to have some fun. Without a warning I throw the dagger at him. A few seconds before it actually fit him I snapped my fingers a and it turns into water, drenching him. His hand was stretched out to grab the dagger before it hit him, but you can't exactly grab water can you?

"Clarrisa." Jace growls as we all burst out laughing at his wet face, water dripping from his hair.

"So what now." I ask after we all come down and evaporating the water from Jace.

"I say you go to Rachel." Annabeth suggests.

"Yes do that, I fear that this encounter has set vast plans into motion. Danger approaches. Be careful my child." Chiron warns.

"Right. Let's go. To the oracle!"

ON THE WAY TO THE ORACLE A.K.A RACHEL

"Hey sis, I was wondering, why you didn't come here for help instead of coming with us."

"Well, I didn't exactly willingly come with you now did I? I sort of got dragged with you and I did plan on coming here. Why do you think I ran away. That reminds me I need to introduce you to Percy."

"Who's he?"

"My other crazy over protective brother." I tilt my head glancing at him.

"Hey, I am not crazy or overprotective!" Jon protests.

"Mmh, sureeee" i reply

"Okay so maybe I am a bit overprotective, but can you blame me? I finally find out I have a family above that a little sister, I'm gonna do my best to make sure she's fine."

"You and Percy will get along perfectly." I laugh.

"So when can I meet this Percy guy?"

" I sent a message to him, asking him to come to camp this weekend as that was when I was going to get here but since I'm already here, we can either go to him or wait till he comes here. Probably the latter since I want to spend a bit more time here." I say.

"Wait how were you able to contact him when we were keep such a close eye on you." Jon wonders aloud.

"I have my way." A smug smile spreading across my face.

We chat all the way to Rachel's little cave. Outside the cave, there are two torches with a purple curtain covering the entire cave, thereby granting privacy to the person inside. I lead the boys inside. The cave has massive sofas and throw pillows. Rachel was painting again, a picture of what seemed to be a sparkly suited man with . . . green cat eyes? Around the room were other pictures including one of the seven, Reyna, Nico, Thalia and me near Thalia's tree. A soft smile makes its way onto my face.

"Hey Clare." Rachel's voice snaps me out of my trip down memory lane.

" Hey Rach. Whatchya painting?" I ask.

"I'm not sure actual. This person has been on my mind all day. For some reason it's connected to you." Rachel answers.

"That's Magnus Bane, High Warlock of New York." Jace says behind me.

A grin spreads across Rachel's face. "Ooo, Clary, who's this, your boyfriend? "

"Rachel! When the Styx freezes over." I snap red faced.

"Oh I don't know. I think I'm getting a vision." Dramatically clasing her eyes and placing her hands to the side of her head in concentration. " I see, I see, the you walking down an ally towards - hey." she screeches indignantly as water slashes all over her while i laugh.

" Cough, cough. As amusing as this is I believe we came here to discuss something OTHER than my sister's love life." Jon claims.

"Oh right, my bad." I say sheepishly. "Rachel, this is my half - brother Jon on my mother's side and the other one is Jace. We came here in hopes of getting some answers."

Rachel steps away from her painting and we all take a seat on the couch. After giving her the basic gist of it (even though she knew most of the facts), we ask her for advice.

"sigh, I was hoping something like this wasn't going to happen. I've been getting a lot of visions Clary. Most of them about you. I've also seen a man that looks a lot like the older version of Jon here."

"Valentine, our father" Jon mutters bitterly.

"Your father, and even then only by blood if you don't want to acknowledge it." I say.

"Right him." Rachel continues, " He's working with dark forces. Creatures from the pit I believe. You won't be needing a prophecy for this one since it deals with shadowhunters, but please be careful. Our worlds are going to merge even more soon. And not in a good way. This might be our only way to stop it. Keep trying to find your mother, it will lead you forward. And the next place to go would be to this Magnus Bane. That's all the advice I can give you for now. Please Clary, be careful."

"I will Rachel, I promise." I assure her.

"Don't worry we'll keep her safe, too. Won't we Jace."

"Sure will Jon, and it looks like we know where to go next. Magnus Bane. Izzy will how to get to him."

"Right to the institute we go." Jon announces. As we all get up.

"Not so fast boys. First we have a little detour to make." I say. They both raise their eyebrows. _Why can't I do that?!_

"I think it's time you meet my brother, **Perceus Achilles Jackson**."


End file.
